


Heart on the Line (operator, operator)

by janvandyne



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Phone Sex, for a good time call au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2018-09-23 16:18:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 33,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9665225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janvandyne/pseuds/janvandyne
Summary: You and Bucky had your differences in college, but now you need a place to stay and he needs a roommate, and in order to make ends meet, you two start a phone sex line together.“For a Good Time, Call…” AU





	1. Chapter 1

**_Then_ **   
**_(10 years ago)_ **

You’re _not_ boring. You don’t care what anyone says. You’re cool and exciting and spontaneous! If you weren’t, then why would you be at this party? You could be at home, cuddled up in a blanket, watching a movie. You could, and even though that sounds _amazing_ , you’re not.

You could’ve bailed once you saw Bucky, the star of every single one of your fantasies. The boy that you’ve never talked to even though you two have the same best friend and a class together. You could’ve bailed, but you didn’t.

You’re not boring. You’re _brave_.

And, _oh my God_ , he’s looking at you. No, no, he’s _coming over_. Be cool. Be cool.

“So,” Bucky says, leaning his back against the same wall you’re holding up. “I think we’re the only two people at this party that aren’t completely shit-faced.” He taps the water bottle in your hand. “Are you someone’s DD or something?”

“No,” you reply. “I’m just –“ _boring_ “—not a heavy drinker.”

“Same here,” he says, taking a drink of his own water.

You watch him, the long line of his throat, the sharp angle of his jaw. He’s – _God_ , he’s even beautiful in profile. You can’t stand it. And when he pulls the bottle back, his pink lips are wet, shining. You could _die_.

You have to clear your throat before you even try to speak again.

“You’re Steve’s friend, right?” you say, going for casual. _Nailing it._

You know he is. You _know_. You’ve seen them together plenty of times. Walked the other way when you’ve seen them heading towards you on campus. You know, but he doesn’t have to know that you know.

“I’ve seen you around,” you add. “I think you’re in my poli-sci class.”

“I –“ he stops and looks down, a little bashful. Your heart skips a beat. “Yeah, I am in your poli-sci class. I sit about three rows behind you, to the right.”

“Do you have everyone’s seats memorized?” you ask, and you can’t help but smile.

Bucky turns toward you, shoulder pressed against the wall, head tilted and leaning against it too. He’s so _tall_ and he’s so _close_ and he’s looking down at you, baby blue eyes crinkling at the corners as he gives you a little smirk.

“Nope,” he says, “just yours.”

“That is so _weird_ ,” you say, more of a tease than a chide.

You have to take a drink of your water to keep from smiling too big. You try your best to hide your goofy grin without choking, and you manage, but your face grows hot when you notice that he’s watching you.

“I know,” he says after a beat. “I can’t help it, though. You are… absolutely beautiful. And I’ve been trying to think of some way to talk to you all semester.”

Your breath catches and your heart starts pounding so hard that you swear Bucky can hear it from where he’s standing. But you don’t care because he’s looking down at his feet now, all shy and adorable, and you realize that, in some miraculous way, he’s just as nervous as you are.

“Oh, I’m Bucky,” he adds, peeking back up at you through his lashes. “I guess I should’ve led with that, huh?”

Yeah, Bucky, the star of your dirtiest dreams. The boy with the beautiful blue eyes and beautiful pink lips and the cleft in his chin and slightly crooked teeth. With the big hands and gangly limbs and wild brown hair.

Bucky, who you’re gonna _fuck_ tonight.

Because you’re not boring. And the moment is too perfect for you to pass up. So you reach out to him, fingers playing with a button on his shirt, pulling him closer by just a fraction of an inch.

“Hi, Bucky,” you say, pitching your voice low. “Do you wanna get out of here?”

His eyes go wide and his cheeks flush red. He pushes off of the wall and straightens up, standing tall. He clears his throat and then says, “Oh! Oh wow, just like that?”

“Yep,” you reply, taking his hand. “Just like that.”

* * *

**_Now_ **

You never thought that you could be so _bored_ with a dick inside of you.

Until you met Brock.

And yeah, Brock’s great. He’s handsome and smart and his family is well-off. He has a good job as an attorney at your fathers’ joint law firm, slated to make partner in less than five years. You two have been together for three and life with him is comfortable and convenient in a reassuring sort of way. Lately, though, you’ve felt a deep gnawing in the pit of your stomach.

Everything feels weird, thrown off. Like Brock is keeping something from you. Is Brock going to propose? _Oh my God, is Brock going to propose??_ Would you wear a white dress? Would you have vanilla cake or buttercream? Would you invite your crazy Aunt Carol who always makes a scene?

Answer: of course you would.

And that’s what you’re thinking about as Brock pumps into you. And you get what people mean when they say it’s not the size of the boat, but the motion in the ocean. Because Brock’s dick is nice but damn if he knows what to do with it.

“I like these sheets you bought,” he says, thrusting.

“Yeah, they’re so soft,” you reply.

He’s up on his palms, not even touching you. Your hands are on him, though, trying to urge him on a little harder, a little deeper. You’re stroking his chest, clutching his back, but it doesn’t seem to be doing anything for him. He just keeps thrusting, thrusting, thrusting…

“What’s the thread count?” he asks.

You sigh. “800.”

Your bra is still on and he has his socks on, too. You can’t remember the last time you were both naked together. You can’t remember the last time that he stripped you of your clothes, touching your body as he undressed you piece by piece.

“You’re so sexy,” he tells you.

“You’re sexy, too,” you say.

“Thanks.”

“Welcome.”

He starts thrusting faster, eyes closed, jaws clenched. You reach down to rub your clit, but your fingertips keep poking his dick, throwing off his rhythm, so you stop. You lay there and let him come. And then, after a few short pumps, he rolls off of you.

“I’m gonna go brush my teeth,” he says after he catches his breath.

You watch him as he picks up his pajama bottoms from the floor and slides them on. He has a nice ass. A nice body. It’s a damn shame that he doesn’t know what to do with it. But you can deal with it, you guess. What’s good sex compared to the big picture? Comfort, security? You could give up a little passion in exchange.

You lay there, alone in bed for a moment, before getting up to join Brock. You pick up his pajama shirt and put it on, fastening just enough buttons to still show your cleavage. Maybe you can coax him into a round two. Maybe you can be on top and ride him and actually come this time.

“So, I forgot to tell you,” Brock says as you walk in to the bathroom. “It looks like I’m going to Italy for the summer.”

“Italy?” you say.

“And therefore, I think it is a good time for us to reevaluate our relationship.”

“Really?” you ask, holding out your left hand for him to hold. You were right, he is going to propose. And you’ll have your white dress and buttercream cake and crazy Aunt Carol.

“Honey, I’m not proposing –“

Or not.

“— I’m evaluating. And after my evaluation, I’ve realized that we’re both ignoring something really obvious here. We always go to the same place for brunch on Sunday, we switched from sour cream to Greek yogurt together, you wear your bra when we’re having sex.”

“What are you saying?” you ask, almost in tears.

“I am saying that we are boring. That I am _bored_. That I am, like, crazy-out-of-my-mind bored. The most exciting part of the sex that we just had was when my penis was chafed by your NuvaRing.”

You want to yell, to _scream_. To tell him that you two were not boring, _he_ was boring. You wanted passion. You wanted excitement. You wanted these things and you were willing to give them up for him. And now he is breaking up with you because he can’t be bothered to take your bra off.

“Brock –“ you sniffle, following him back out to your bedroom.

“Let’s just talk when I get back,” he says, sitting down on the bed. You sit down next to him. “We’ll have had some distance and you’ll have moved out of this place –”

“What?” you screech. “This is my home! I’ve lived here for two years!”

Brock looks at you, pats your hand in a condescending way, and says, “I should pack. I’ll just start in the kitchen.”

Despite the tears in your eyes, you give him the dirtiest look you can manage. He looks at you for a second, contemplative, then says, “Honey… you’re sitting on my phone, I think.”


	2. Chapter 2

Then

You and Bucky take his car to his apartment. He’s driving with one hand, holding your hand with the other, fingers intertwined. He’s belting along to the radio, singing loud and unabashed, and every time James Blunt sings, “You’re beautiful,” he looks at you.

You’re both smiling, laughing. It feels so natural and normal and easy. He brings your hand up to his lips and kisses your knuckles. You kiss the back of his hand in return and he bites his bottom lip, still smiling.

You’re feeling pretty gutsy, so you untangle your fingers from his so that you two are palm to palm. You run the tip of your tongue up the length of his middle finger and Bucky nearly runs the car off the road. You laugh, but don’t stop.

You slide two of his fingers into your mouth and suck on them softly. Bucky’s torn between watching you and keeping his eyes on the road and the car starts to drift, easing into the other lane until he realizes and jerks it back sharply.

“I’m going to have to stop if it makes you wreck the car,” you tell him, still holding his hand in yours.

“No! No, I’m good,” Bucky replies, smirking, steadfastly keeping his eyes forward.

You slide Bucky’s hand down your body, guiding it down the side of your throat, across your bare collarbone, and letting it linger on your breast. He tightens his fingers on his own, squeezing, and you both groan.

“Do you want to finger fuck me, Bucky?” you ask, and even though it comes out as a whisper, you’re proud at how bold you’ve been tonight. “Do you want to get me off right here in your car?”

“Fuck yes,” he moans, taking his hand off of your breast and putting it on your thigh. “Are you sure?”

You smile wide as you look at his profile, sure that he would see hearts in your eyes if he turned to look at you. He’s so cute and so sweet that you’ll probably melt into a puddle if he says anything else. So you just take his hand on put it on your pussy, and even though it’s still covered by your panties, you know that he will feel how hot and wet you already are.

“Don’t I seem sure?” you ask.

The back of his head thumps against the headrest.

“Oh my God,” he moans out loud and starts moving his hand without help from you.

You reach over and run your fingers through his hair, playing with the tresses at the nape of his neck. You can feel him shiver and you watch as he squirms in his seat.

You slip off your shoe and put your right foot on your own seat, spreading your legs even more as an invitation for Bucky. He wastes no time sliding his hand into your panties, and although his arm is twisted and the bend of his wrist is at an awkward angle, he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Bucky slides a finger into you and you gasp, lifting your hips up a little to give him easier access. He presses the pad of his finger against your slick front wall, sliding against it as he slowly pumps in and out of you.

He grinds the heel of his hand against your clit, massaging it as he finger fucks you. And good Lord, feels amazing. Your hips start moving, rolling against his hand, and you can already feel yourself getting close to your climax.

You would be embarrassed at how quickly he’s making you fall apart, but your mind is getting fuzzy and your body is turning to goo. All you can think about is Bucky and how he’s sliding another one of those long, beautiful fingers inside of you alongside his other one.

You grab on to his hair a little tighter and he says, “Yeah, yeah, come on,” so softly that you barely hear it over the sound of the radio.

God, he’s going to be the death of you, but what a way to go. You never would have believed that you’d be in Bucky’s car, getting fingered by him as he drives you to his apartment, but here you are. And it’s better than you could’ve ever imagined.

“Fuck, Bucky,” you moan and he takes his hand off the steering wheel to press down against the bulge in his pants.

“Bucky, FUCK!” you call out, half from the image of him touching himself, half from you not wanting him to run the car off the road.

You reach out to take hold of the steering wheel and straighten out the car. Bucky grabs that hand in his own and puts your palm against his cock, straining against the fly of his jeans. He takes control of the car again, but he’s still fucking you with his fingers, now grinding his dick up into your hand.

He’s breathing hard through his nose, bottom lips between his teeth and he looks so good, feels so fucking good, and before you know it, you’re coming. You’re coming hard around his fingers, pussy getting them even more slick, clit rubbing against his hand.

You hold on to his hair, tighten your fingers around his cock, and yes, you’re pretty sure you are dying. Good bye, world, you wish you could have made it to his apartment, but this is good too.

You’re squirming in your seat, back arched, eyes clenched closed. He’s forcing you through it, fingers filling you up full and deep. It’s incredible. You’ve never felt this good before and you haven’t even seen his cock yet.

You come down eventually, breathing hard and smiling. He’s smiling, too, cheeks pink and lips bitten red. He slides his fingers out of your pussy and squeezes your thigh, smearing you slick across your bare skin.

You notice that the car isn’t moving anymore, and when you look around you see that the two of you are parked on a curb in front of an apartment building. You look back at Bucky and he’s staring at you, blue eyes shining, hand still holding your thigh.

“Is this your place?” you ask, voice rough and breathless.

“Yeah,” is all he replies.

“Then what are we waiting for?”

Now

Steve has been letting you crash at his place for the last week. And you’re grateful because his couch is more comfortable than a park bench and he isn’t there most of the time, anyway. Like now, it’s 3 a.m. and you haven’t seen him since noon. Which is ok because you appreciate the space, but being in an apartment that’s not your own, with nowhere else to go and no one to talk to, makes you feel even more alone.

You’ve been laying on the couch for the last few hours, sipping wine and channel surfing. You’re not drunk exactly, but you’re definitely tipsy. You’re feeling listless and lazy-limbed. Not sleepy but… lethargic. And that’s fine because that’s one step on the way to numb. And numb is better than crying yourself to sleep every night.

There’s been a Cops marathon on for the last few hours that you’ve been flipping back to, but now instead of Cops on the TV, there’s a couple sitting on a red couch in an otherwise empty, smoke-filled room. They’re sitting close, the man’s arm draped across the back of the couch, the woman curled up to his side, hand on his chest.

“Bored?” the man says, talking to the camera. “Alone?”

“You don’t have to be lonely anymore,” the woman adds. “Call 1-900-NYC-CHAT to talk to hot locals now. Spend some quality one-on-one time with sexy men and women in your area.”

“It’s easy. Just call 1-900-NYC-CHAT. That’s 1-900-692-2428.”

“We’ll be waiting for you.”

When the commercial ends, you find yourself fiddling with your phone. It’s stupid. The commercial was stupid. But… what’s the harm in it? You’re just tipsy enough to not give a fuck and your fingers are already dialing the number before your brain can catch up with what they’re doing.

You look down at the phone in your hand, listening to it ring. After two rings someone picks up, a deep female voice that says, “Thank you for calling 1-900-NYC-CHAT. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?”

The sound snaps you back to reality and you quickly put the phone up to your ear, fumbling and almost dropping it in the process.

“Umm…” Shit, you didn’t think this far ahead. “Pepper?”

You cringe at the obviously made up name, but the woman must be used to it because she doesn’t skip a beat.

“Hello, Pepper,” she says. “May I ask your gender preference?”

“Umm… male?”

“Thank you, Pepper,” the woman replies. “Hold for me, please.”

You hear a click and then a recording telling you about their confidentiality policy and the billing process. $4.99 a minute, Jesus fucking Christ, but you stay on the line anyway. This time, the phone rings only once and someone answers. Your knee-jerk reaction is to hang up, but you’ve gotten this far and you’re going to see it through.

“Hi, I’m James,” the voice on the other side of the line says. “Is this Pepper?”


	3. Chapter 3

**_Then_ **

You and Bucky practically run up three flights of stairs to get to his floor. You’re breathless, leaning against the wall by his door as he pulls out his keys. You watch his fingers as he fumbles with them, the same fingers that were inside of you only a few minutes ago, and you have to squeeze your thighs together as you think about it, bite your lip as you wait for him to unlock the door.

Bucky manages to get his key into the lock and then he stops, fingers still on the keyring, and when you look back up he’s staring at you.

He smirks and reaches out to you, pulls you in by your shirt, bunching the fabric at your stomach in his fist. When you’re chest to chest, he slides one arm around your waist, cups the back of your neck with his other hand. He looking down at you, and you have to tilt your head up to look at him.

You sneak your hands under his shirt, fingertips moving up his ribs, feeling his warm, soft skin. You dig your nails in, just a little, just to see his reaction. His eyes light up and he groans, leans forward and presses his forehead against yours.

“Bucky –“ you whisper, and finally, _finally_ , he kisses you.

You sigh as your lips touch. A warmth spreads through you, a calmness and excitement both at the same time. You can feel it all the way in your fingers, in your toes. Everything just feels so natural between the two of you, so sincere. You match, you click, you fit, all of the pieces falling into place.

Bucky moves you, presses you against the door. His body falls over you like a shadow, thigh slotting between your legs. The kiss grows more passionate. He bites your lip, tugs a little, licks the sting away. You meet the tip of his tongue with your own, barely touching before you pull back, making him chase you.

“Come on, open the door,” you tell him, and he reaches around you, turns the key, and you both stumble into his apartment.

Bucky grabs your hand and pulls you forward after he shuts the door. He clears his throat and laughs a little. You’re glad for the break because you’re even more breathless than before, like you just ran a marathon, like you were just kissing the boy of your dreams.

“So this is my place,” he says, rubbing the back of his head. “The kitchen, the couch, closet, bathroom, and bed. This is it.”

You look around at his studio apartment. It’s tiny, but cute. Just a room and two windows, two doors. You assume the bathroom is through the closet, because there’s no other place it could be. The couch is in front of the bed, the TV on a stand in front of that. 

You let out a shuddering breath as your turn to face him. You know you’re shaking, but you can’t help it. You know he can feel it, but you can’t help that either. You’re full and excitement and anticipation, and honestly, a little fear.

“This is your first time, isn’t it?” he asks.

“My first time?” you repeat with a laugh. “No, Bucky, this is not my first my time.”

“I meant your first time hooking up with someone you just met.”

Your smiles wanes a little as you look down, embarrassed. You’re supposed to be cool, exciting, and you’re _blowing it._

“Is it that obvious?” you ask.

“No,” he says gently, understanding. Bucky runs his hands up and down your bare arms, warm palms heating up your skin. “I just… I don’t think you’re as sure as you want to be.”

If you weren’t sure before, you are now. Bucky is… the softest boy you’ve ever met. The sweetest. And you feel like he’s sincere, not trying to run game or trick you, but genuine in his concern.

“Bucky, I’m sure.”

“OK, well… can you do something for me, then?” he asks. “Spend the night here. We can watch a movie, I’ll throw a pizza in the oven. And then in the morning, if you’re still sure, I will be more than happy do anything you wanna do.”

He cups your cheeks in his palms and kisses you, gentle and chaste. He’s smirking when he pulls back, but he doesn’t take his hands off of you.

“I mean, you already got off,” he continues. “It doesn’t get much better from there.”

You snort. “I doubt that’s true. And anyway,” you add, looking down at his obviously hard dick. “What about you?”

Bucky laughs. “After what all has happened tonight, all I need is about 16 seconds and my right hand and I’ll be good to go, I promise.”

“Bucky –“

“Seriously. Just pick a movie and make yourself comfortable. I’ll get you some clothes. And then I’ll be right back.”

He disappears in to the closet and comes back a moment later, a bundle of clothes in his hands. He tosses them to you and tells you to put them on, that he’s going to change too, _among other things_ , and he won’t be long.

Bucky walks through the closet and into the bathroom with a handful of clothes, shutting the door behind him. You start to change, replacing your skirt with a pair of some soft and worn-in sweatpants. You take off your shirt, and your bra too since you’re getting comfortable, and pull on Bucky’s hoodie with the name of some high school across the chest.

Bucky is still gone after you’re dressed, so you go over to his bookshelves to pick out a movie for the two of you to watch. He has an interesting mix of movies and books lining the shelves, along with pictures of some people, Steve included. There’s also a pair of sunglasses, an Iron Man action figure still in the box, and something glossy green that you can only assume is a bong. You suddenly realize that you really don’t know much about him.

“Did you pick out a movie?” Bucky asks from behind you.

“I was thinking either Mean Girls or Texas Chainsaw Massacre,” you reply, holding a DVD up in each hand.

“Ok,” he says, walking toward you, “so if we watch Mean Girls, I will probably quote the whole movie, and if we watch Texas Chainsaw Massacre, I will definitely use you as a human shield for my eyes. So… Texas Chainsaw Massacre it is!”

He takes the movie from you and puts it in the DVD player as you return the other one to the shelf and make yourself comfortable on the couch. Bucky turns off the lights and sits on the couch beside you, pulls the throw off the back of the couch and drapes it over you both.

“You ready?” he asks before pressing play on the remote.

He throws the remote on the other side of the couch and wraps his arms around you, pulling you down to lay in front of him. He’s pressed between your body on the couch, and his chest is snug against your back, knees in the crook of yours, arm wrapped around you.

Bucky is warm, and he smells nice. His clothes are cozy and everything just feels _right._ You’re barely even watching the movie, caught up in being so close to him, your thoughts wandering. You feel him hold on to you tighter ever so often, push his face into the back of your neck, and that doesn’t help at _all._

“Are you watching?” he asks, his voice low in your ear.

The deep rumble of his words reverberate through your body. His soft breath makes you shiver. The movie is completely forgotten in the background and the only thing that matters to you now is the places where your bodies are touching.

“Not really,” you admit, turning around in his arms to face him. “I’m just thinking.”

“Yeah?” he says, face close to yours, your lips almost touching. “What are you thinking about?”

You slide your leg over his hip and say, “I don’t wanna wait until the morning. I want you now.”


	4. Chapter 4

_**Now** _

James’s voice is… nice. It’s deep and sounds sleep-soft, like he’s relaxed and in bed. There’s no doubt he’s local, a Brooklyn accent stands out anywhere, and it makes this all the more real. He’s close, could be right next door, an actual person instead of just a voice on the other side of the telephone line.

“Are you there?” James asks.

You clear your throat. “Yeah, um… I’m here,” you say.

You hear him hum. “Oh, good, I thought you might have hung up on me.”

There’s a thick silence for a moment, then he says, “This is your first time, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t sound judgmental or condescending. If anything, he sounds intrigued. And for some reason it makes you feel a twisting sense of nostalgia deep in your gut. The words sound familiar, even the voice, echoing in the back of your head like a dream.

“Is it that obvious?” you ask, the scene playing out like déjà vu.

You can hear him laugh, then some rustling, and he says, “No, but how about we start slow? What are you doing right now?”

You figure you should just be honest, right? He’s a phone sex operator, surely he’s talked to people more pathetic than you. So you say, “I’m lying on my friend’s couch, drinking wine and watching crappy cop shows.”

“Why aren’t you at home in bed?”

He’s talked to people more pathetic than you, _right_?

“I,” you start to say, “… my boyfriend and I broke up. And he practically kicked me out of our apartment. We had sex and then he said we were boring and that he’s going to Italy for the summer. And now I’m here, on my best friend’s couch.”

“He sounds like a _dick_ ,” James replies.

“Mhhm,” you agree.

“You don’t deserve that,” he says. “And he doesn’t deserve you. You sound like a very sweet girl.”

You know he’d say anything to keep you on the line, that it’s his job to keep you interested, but you can’t help but to bask in his praise.

“Thanks, James,” you say, and then you hear a small laugh on the other side of the line. You ask, “What’s so funny?” although you can’t help smiling to yourself.

“You just… you really do sound sweet,” he answers. “I like the way my name sounds when you say it.”

You laugh too. “Like that’s your real name,” you say.

“It is, actually. No one calls me that, though. Well, no one _except_ –“

You both laugh.

“Except the people you phone fuck?” you ask.

Reality hits you like a brick, that you’re on the phone with someone you’re paying to talk dirty to you, and you barely hear him when he snorts and says, “Yeah, exactly.”

“So how does this usually work?”

“You can tell me what you want to do,” James replies. “Or I can tell you what I want to do to you.”

His voice is getting deeper, more rough. He’s drawing out his words so they’re slower and he sounds damn good. You don’t even know how to reply.

“I can tell you how much I want to get my lips on that sweet mouth of yours. Taste you. Touch you. Your boyfriend didn’t touch you the way you wanted to be touched. I can tell. He didn’t fuck you the way you wanted either.”

“Oh!” That caught you off guard.  

“I would touch you everywhere,” James continues. “Take you apart piece by piece.”

You can’t help but touch yourself, letting your fingers drift over your body, soft as James’s voice in your ear. You wish you didn’t have to hold the phone, so you could touch yourself everywhere at once, imitate the actions that James is whispering to you. Pretend your hands are not your own, but his, taking you apart like he’s promising to do.

“If I could just get you in my bed,” he says, then sighs, “I would lay you down on your stomach, get you nice and comfortable. I would start at your feet and slowly massage my way up. Press my fingers into your calves, your thighs.”

You try to imagine what James looks like. Blue eyes, definitely. Clear and bright, piercing, as they look down at you. Shaggy brown hair, soft underneath your fingers. Pink lips, long limbs, big, gentle hands.

Who are you thinking of?

“I’d take my time with your ass,” he says. “Sink my fingertips into your soft cheeks. Touch all over your silky-smooth skin. Then I’d spread you apart, get a good look at that beautiful pussy.”

You moan, fingers finally finding their way down to your panties. You begin to rub your clit through the fabric, thinking about James looking at you in your most intimate place, discovering how wet you already are.

“Baby, can I touch it? Can I touch you pretty little pussy?”

“Yes, James, please,” you moan.

“There you are,” he says, and you can hear his smile. “I was missin’ your voice... Tell me I can touch your pussy. I want to hear it.”

“You can touch it. I want you to touch it.”

“No,” he replies, and you groan. “Tell me I can touch your _pretty little pussy_.”

“I want you to touch my… my pretty little pussy.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” James moans, the sound making your whole body quiver. You slip your hand inside your panties and massage your wet clit with your fingers, wishing it was him doing it instead. Your other hand creeps under your shirt and you pinch your hard nipple, making you arch your back and gasp.

“You’re all hot and tight, aren’t you, baby?” he growls, voice pitched low and deep. “You’re touching yourself, aren’t you? Are you sliding your fingers into that soft, wet pussy? _Mmm_ , pussy made just for my cock.”

You have to bite your lip to keep from being too loud as you slip two of your fingers into your cunt. You _are_ soft, so soft. You never noticed until James said it, praised you for it even though you know he’s not really there.

“I want you to fuck me,” you say, barely louder than a whisper. “Fuck me, James, please.”

He moans, curses, and then the only sound on the other end of the line is his heavy breathing.

“You want me to fuck you, baby?” he finally says. “Take you just like this, from behind? You want me to lay on top of that soft, perfect body and slide into you? Just imagine me sliding my hard cock inside of you, filling up that tight cunt. You can take it, baby. I know you can. You’d take it all like a good girl… Tell me that you’re a good girl.”

“I’m a good girl,” you whisper.

“Say it again,” he growls, “Tell me you’re _my_ good girl.”

“I’m yours. I’m yours. I’m your good girl.”

“ _Mmm_ , yeah, you’re my _best_ girl,” he says.

You fuck yourself with your fingers, sliding them in and out of your slick pussy. You rub the heel of your hand against your clit, sending sparks shooting through your body. You moan, uninhibited. You want him to hear you, to hear how good he’s making you feel.

“You like being filled up, don’t you?” he asks, panting. “All you need is a thick cock inside of that tight, wet pussy. Need someone to touch you all over, take care of you. Fuck you like you deserve.”

“OH! I’m coming! James, I’m coming! Oh, fuck!”

“Come on my cock, baby,” he says. “Come on my cock. I want to feel you. Fuck, _fuck._ Can I come inside of you, baby? I need to come inside of you.”

“Yes!” you cry out. “Yes, yes, come inside of me. _Please_ , James.”

Your whole body is shaking and you can feel your pussy tremble around your fingers. Your orgasm washes over you like a wave, starting at your toes and flowing through your entire body. Your fingers tighten around your nipple, the shock of pain grounding you as you start to come down, body melting into the plush blanket beneath you.

For a while, all you can hear is James’s and your breaths mingling over the phone line, gradually softening into an easy silence. It feels like cuddling, just being like this, James so seemingly close, the sound of him in your ear.

“Pepper –“

“I think maybe I should go,” you say, dreading hanging up.

“Ok,” he sighs. “Goodnight, Pepper. I hope I get to talk to you again.”

“Yeah, me too. Goodnight, James.”


	5. Chapter 5

**_Then_ **

You two kiss like that for a while, face to face on the couch, hands exploring each other’s bodies through your clothes. But then you start to get impatient, greedy for more. You tug on his shirt, pulling him on top of you as you roll on to your back. He uses his knees to part your legs, slotting his body snug between your thighs. It’s a tight fit with both of you spread out on the small couch, but it works and it feels good being so close, bodies pressed against each other.

Bucky kisses the corner of your mouth, holds your jaw with one of his hands and turns your face so that his lips can trail a path down the column of your throat.  His mouth is hot and eager, moving with more passion than finesse.

“Did I tell you that I love seeing you in my clothes or was I just thinking it?” he asks, lips against your neck. You hum in response and he chuckles. “I was just thinking it, right?”

“Yeah…” you breathe out in response, a small laugh trailing at the end. “I guess you were.”

He slides a hand underneath the hoodie, warm palm against your bare skin. He touches your ribs feather-light, teases the underside of your breast with his fingertips.

“You were naked underneath this whole time?” he asks.

You nod your head and Bucky lifts up on his knees with a sigh. He slides the hoodie up, bunches it up beneath your chin, baring your breasts to him. He lets out a shuddering breath and softly runs his fingertips along the circumference of your tight nipples.

You arch your back and moan, pushing your breasts up into his hands. He kneads them in his palms, shakes his head like he can’t believe it. His hips jerk and you can feel his hard cock against your cunt, the long length of his shaft pressing against your clit.

Bucky smooths his hand down your waist, grabs on to the elastic of the sweatpants you’re wearing. You lift your hips to help him undress you and he takes the hint to slide the boxers off, his eyes taking in every inch of your legs as he undresses you.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he groans as you spread your legs, draping one over the back of the couch and wrapping one around his hips.

He reaches between the two of you to touch your pussy, his fingertips finding you soaking wet. He strums your clit a few times then slowly sinks his thick finger inside.

“All this for me?” he asks, smirking.

“ _Mhhmm_ ,” you moan, your own fingers fluttering up his forearm.

With your other hand you reach up to clutch him behind his neck. You pull him down on top of you, pressing your mouth against his. His kisses are no less electric than the first time, sending shockwaves through your entire body, making you vibrate with _want._

Bucky slides his finger out of you and starts rubbing your clit, smearing your slick around the sensitive nub as you writhe beneath him. You two are a mess, awkward angles in cramped quarters, hands everywhere, lips everywhere. His fingers feel good, so fucking good, but you’re spoiled now, and you’re ready for his cock.

“Why aren’t you naked?” you whisper, your nose grazing the edge of his jaw.

“Why… oh!” he says. “I should be naked.”

Bucky practically jumps off of you, hands on his shirt to pull it off. It’s ungraceful but he manages, and no sooner does his shirt hit the ground that he’s sliding his sweatpants off too. He takes a few steps toward his nightstand and rummages through the drawer before pulling out a box of condoms that he has to rip open to get inside of.

You can see him over the back of the sofa from where you’re lying. His body is slender, but strong. Broad shoulders tapered down to a small waist. Long arms with just a hint of definition from the muscles below. His skin is pale and peppered with beauty marks, his hair even more wild than before from lying down.

He’s gorgeous and perfect _and he’s taking way too damn long_.

You take matters into your own hands and climb over the sofa and onto the bed. He turns as you crawl to him, hands and knees, and at this point you’re not even trying to be sexy, you’re just trying to _get to him_ as quick as you can.

When you reach him you kiss his thigh, right below the hem of his boxers. You move up and up, lips placing kisses across the fabric of the underwear until you get to the place where his hard dick is straining against them.

You look up at Bucky’s wide-eyed face and give him a smile before pressing a lingering, open mouthed kiss to the tip of his cock.

“Oh fuck!” he moans. “Alright, come here.”

He guides you up to him with a hand on the back of your head and kisses you, wet and dirty and so so good, and then he puts a hand on the middle of the chest and gently pushes you to lay back on the pillows.

He slides his boxers down, his dick bobbing up against his stomach. You practically start drooling when you see it. It’s the most beautiful dick you’ve ever seen, porn-cocks included. It’s not too long but it’s thick as fuck, curved up slightly, and flushed a pretty pink at the tip.

Bucky gives that beautiful cock a few strokes as he tears a condom packet with his teeth. He pinches the tip of the condom, rolls it on his dick, and then he’s on the bed with you, sliding his body in between your thighs.

“Fuck, you have no idea…” he says as he lines his cock up with your wet and waiting pussy. He bends down and kisses you, kisses you, kisses you. You don’t think you can ever get tired of his lips, no matter how many times they’re on you.

“Show me, then.”

* * *

**_Now_ **

“Up!”

“OW! What the _fuck_?”

Steve slaps your ass again. “Get up!” he says. “I found you a place to live.”

“Steeeve,” you whine, pulling the covers back over your head.

“Get up!” he yells, pulling the blanket off of you completely. “Get dressed! Wear something cute. A dress! I am _sick_ of seeing your ass in yoga pants.”

You groan and sit up, grabbing the blanket back and wrapping it around yourself like a cocoon. You’re tired and a little bit hungover, mouth and eyes dry. Steve is bright and chipper, even after being out all night, and you kinda sorta hate him for it.

“OK then,” he says, walking over to the flimsy garment rack in the corner of the room. “I’ll pick an outfit for you.”

“No!” you whine. “You always make me look like a slut.”

“Slut-chic is my favorite look on you!” he says, spinning around with a dress in his hands, holding it up to himself.

“That is the shortest dress I own,” you say. “I wear it as a shirt with jeans.”

“Today, it’s a dress!”

You roll your eyes and fall sideways onto the couch, burying your face in the pillow. It’s too early for all this… you think. You really have no idea what time it is, but regardless, it’s too early. You don’t want to live in a new apartment. You want to go back to your old apartment and your old life.

“OK, honey, you’ve got to stop pouting,” Steve says, taking a seat next to you. He grabs your arms and pulls you back upright. “Look, I haven’t said anything before because I like to be a good friend and I don’t wanna be judgmental, but right now, I’m gonna drop a truth bomb on you, so I’m glad you’re sitting down.”

He places his palms on your cheeks and squeezes them, smooshing your face in his hands. He gives you a serious stare, his blue eyes piercing yours, then sighs.

“Brock is _boring_. Sorry, everyone talks about it, no one says it to you. He is boring. It’s a struggle to have a 20 second conversation with him. And you know what else? He always seems like he’s kinda looking for a better deal. I’m sorry.”

You gasp. “I’m a great deal!”

“Honey, oh my God, I know that. Of course you are. You’re my favorite! You’re the best deal in the world. But then why would he go all the way over to Italy without you, huh? He didn’t appreciate you. And he didn’t deserve you. Him breaking up with you is the best thing that he has ever done for you, I promise. Today is the start of your new awesome, wonderful life, OK?”

“OK,” you reply, nodding your head, even though you’re halfway tempted to lay down and go back to sleep. “Thank you, Stevie. I love you.”

“I love you more,” Steve says, then scribbles down something on a piece of paper. “And I want what’s best for you. That’s why I’m doing this. Remember that, ok? And meet me at this address in two hours. Wear that dress. Where are your pink pumps?”

“Remember that?” you repeat, watching him as he stands up from the couch. “Remember what? Steve why –“

“Ok, leaving now!” he says as he makes his way to the door.

“Steve!”

“BYE! … WEAR THE PINK PUMPS!”


	6. Chapter 6

**_Then_ **

The first time is fast, frantic, _fantastic_ , and over too soon. You both come embarrassingly quick, climaxing mere minutes after he slides into you. Afterward, he buries his face into the crook of your neck, his cheeks flushed red and hot. His hips are still between your spread thighs, soft dick inside of you.

He starts to laugh, quietly at first, then with his whole body. His breath is tickling your skin, chest vibrating against yours, and for no reason at all, you start laughing too.

“Fuck,” he says, breathless, as he raises up on his forearms. “I am so sorry, oh my God.”

He kisses your cheeks, your nose, your lips. He laughs between kisses and you smile against his mouth.

“It was just…” he starts to say. “God, you’re just…”

And he’s kissing your jaw, down your neck, your chest. You groan as his dick slips out of you, his body sliding down yours as his lips make their way down your stomach. You bury your fingers in his hair, guiding him on his way down. You arch your back, wanting him to touch every part of your body that he can.

Bucky looks up at you, those grey blue eyes gleaming as he smiles.

“Let me make it up to you.”

* * *

When you wake up, Bucky is gone.

He’s not in bed, and there’s not many other places to look. You get off the bed, taking his sheet with you, and go through the closet to check the bathroom. It’s empty. So is the kitchen, the living room. You look out the window to the street below. His car is gone. No note, no number, no anything.

You sit down on the couch, sheet still wrapped around your naked body.

He’s gone.

He brought you home with him then bailed. Did you… did you push him into doing something he didn’t want to do? He did ask to wait until morning, but he seemed pretty enthusiastic at the time. You would have stopped if he said no. But he didn’t. Instead, he kissed you breathless, fucked you senseless. More than once. Made you come with his fingers and his mouth and his cock.

Both spent and snuggling, you fell asleep as the sunrise barely illuminated the room. You didn’t wake up when he left, and you don’t know how long he’s been gone, only that that he’s _gone._

 You sit on the couch a little longer, torn between being heartbroken and pissed as hell. Not only did Bucky leave you, he left you stranded without a ride. Your car is still at the house from the party last night, and that’s too far away to walk to. So… what did he expect you to do?

You never got Bucky’s number, so you can’t call him and cuss him out or even tell him to man up and get back so he can take you to your car. You’re too embarrassed to call Steve. This is one thing that he will never find out about, at least not from you. So you quickly get dressed and leave, hailing a cab when you get down to the street.

* * *

**_Now_ **

You have a sinking sort of feeling in the pit of your stomach. Steve… well, Steve is the best. He’s sweet and thoughtful, but that thoughtfulness often turns into him being annoyingly meddlesome. But you _are_ sleeping on his couch, boxes taking up his space rent-free, so you decide to indulge him.

The walk to the apartment is pleasant, even if you are wearing a dress that’s too short and heels that are too tall. It’s close enough to Steve’s house that you can walk there, close enough to the subway that you can get everywhere else with little issue.

It’s in a good neighborhood, too. Rows of brownstones line one side of the street and a park dominates the other. When you get to your destination you nod, impressed. The building looks clean and nice, with brick stairs leading up to double doors that you need a code to get into. Steve wrote the code down along with the address so you bypass the intercom and go straight into the building.

There’s even a working elevator! You sigh in relief. Your first apartment right out of college had a perpetually broken elevator and you had to walk up six flights of stairs every day at least once. You got into pretty decent shape, but you don’t want to have to go through that again.

And all this… this seems too good to be true.

When you make it to apartment 7C, you take a minute to compose yourself. You put the sweetest smile on your face and give the door three short knocks, and when the door opens up, you’re met with a fucking _brick wall_ of a man.

“You!” you gasp.

“You,” Bucky replies, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the doorframe.

“STEVEN!” you both yell, never taking your eyes off of each other.

Bucky looks you up and down and you do the same, scrutinizing him while trying to look unimpressed. You haven’t seen him since before he shipped out to Afghanistan a few years back, and damn. _Damn_. He’s fucking _huge_ now. He’s always been tall but now he’s wide, muscular. His long, awkward limbs are replaced with arms bigger than your whole head, thighs thicker than pound cake. _Jesus._

He’s grown out his hair, too. It’s long, and still sort of wild, half tied up, the rest tucked behind his ears and brushing against his shoulders.

He’s wearing an all-black button up that he looks like he’s about to bust out off, dark jeans, black sneakers, and thick-rimmed wayfarer glasses. His sleeves are rolled up, showing off one tan and one metal arm. Steve had told you about that before, Bucky losing his arm overseas and receiving some kind of high-tech prosthetic once he got back. It’s different, interesting, but you don’t linger, not wanting to make him uncomfortable about this, no matter how much you don’t care about making him uncomfortable about everything else.

Steve must have told him to look nice, just like he told you to, and you want to punch him in his throat for it because Bucky looks… fuck. Fuckity fuck. He looks _amazing._

When you look back up at his face, he’s staring at you, brows furled, eyes so damn blue. It took you years to get over this guy and now everything is rushing back, like a swift kick to the gut.

“Hi!” Steve says, peeking over Bucky’s shoulder. “Come on! Come on in. You’re gonna love it!”


	7. Chapter 7

**_Then_ **

Bucky won’t even meet your eyes in class.

Not that you really want him to. Being blatantly rejected is embarrassing enough. It would be worse if Bucky knew how bad you’re hurting, stuck somewhere in Limbo between being heartsick and outraged.

You don’t hate him, even though you feel like you should. This is college and Bucky is young and hot and single. People your age sleep around, but you just… you thought that you and Bucky had a connection. Something special and exciting waiting to be explored.

Obviously, you were wrong. And the gnawing feeling in your stomach is just despair, not hate. Hope snuffed out too soon. It was a nice few hours, while it lasted. But now it’s over and done with, and you have to move on. Accept the fact that not everything works out the way you want it to.

You snap out of your thoughts when people start shuffling about around you, packing up their stuff to leave class. You take a second to gather yourself then do the same, taking your time so that you’re nowhere near Bucky when you leave. You have nothing to worry about, though, because when you sneak a peek to where Bucky sits, he’s already gone

Not even friends, then, you guess. But him being best friends with your best friend is going to be hard. You’ll manage, though. You have so far.

* * *

 

**_Now_ **

Steve reaches around Bucky and grabs your arm, pulling you into the apartment and making you brush past Bucky as you do. Steve drags you down the hallway, but neither of you break eye contact until you’re practically twisting your neck around to stare him down.

Steve forces you around the corner, into the living room, and when you’re out of Bucky’s line of sight, you get right up in Steve’s face. “You couldn’t have warned me?” you hiss. “You just let me open the door to… to _that_?”

“To what?” Steve asks, but he’s smiling, the little shit.

“To… fucking _sasquatch_ ,” you reply. “Bucky _fucking_ Barnes!”

Steve laughs. “Oh, come on. I’m –“

“ _I’m doing this because I want what’s best for you,”_ you cut him off, mimicking him from earlier. “You think what’s best for me is moving in with Bucky fucking Barnes? What are you thinking??”

“You know, my middle name actually isn’t ‘fucking,’” Bucky interjects as he walks into the living room.

Steve sighs and you roll your eyes. “I’m thinking that he needs a roommate,” Steve replies, “and you need a place to stay! Just check the apartment out ok? I’m gonna go get us drinks. Bucky, why don’t you show her around?”

You gasp. “No, Steve, please don’t –“

And then he’s gone, leaving you and Bucky alone. You slowly turn around to face him, increasingly aware of the silent tension in the room.

The silence stretches out…

seconds feeling like hours…

until Bucky finally starts to speak…

“Well, this is the apartment,” he says. “I’m sure you’re familiar with that structurally. This is the living room. That’s the dining room. There’s a chair. That’s a lamp. There’s two bedrooms down the hall and a bathroom at the very end.”

“One bathroom?” you ask, dreading the thought of sharing with a guy, let alone Bucky fucking Barnes.

“ _One_ bathroom,” he repeats with emphasis. “And the toilet seat is always up.”

“He’s joking!” Steve says as he walks back into the living room. “I’ve been in that bathroom plenty of times and it’s always spick and span, seat down and lid closed.”

You roll your eyes, at both the conversation and the fact that Steve came back empty-handed.

“Where are the drinks?” you ask him.

“Let’s go see your bedroom,” Steve says, ignoring your question. He wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Come on!”

You don’t miss the stink eye that Steve gives Bucky as you both walk by him, the condescending little smirk that Bucky responds with. Steve leads you down a hallway off the living room and then walks you into a bedroom.

You almost gasp. It really is beautiful. It has pale grey walls and gorgeous hardwood floors. It’s spacious and light, a huge window covering most of one wall. A few pieces of furniture occupy the room – a bed, a nightstand, two dressers. At least you wouldn’t have to bring much from your old place. There’s even a painting of flowers that Steve did hanging on the wall. You smile at that.

“Look at this,” Steve says, spinning. “Personal space! Invaluable in New York, right? Can you believe this? And the closet space? Look at the windows! It’s like living on the sun! And these floors!”

You stop him, grabbing him by his arms. “OK! The place is amazing. You’re right, ok? Yes, the windows are huge, the floors are lovely. But, Steeeve…”

“Let’s go see the bathroom,” Steve says, ignoring you once again. He takes you hand and pulls you out into the hall again. “It has a clawfoot tub! So vintage. Did you know this apartment used to be Bucky’s grandparent’s place? They got it in the 40’s!”

“Oh, my God!”

“I know, right?”

“No!” you reply. “Oh, my _God_. That’s me!”

You pull your hand out of Steve’s and point to the picture on the wall. It’s a simple black and white charcoal drawing of you that Steve did a while back. You’re nude, reclining on your side, the length of your back from head to toes filling up the paper. _Bucky has a picture of you on his wall._

“That’s me, you know,” you say, turning around to face Bucky where he’s taking up all the space in the hallway. You cross your arms. “You have a picture of me, naked, hanging up in your apartment.”

Bucky looks shocked for a second, but quickly recovers. “Take it down, then,” he growls, mirroring your stance, crossing his arms over that broad chest.

“Do I look like you maid?”

“Ok, stop!” Steve yells. “You, you, family meeting. I need just a _minute_ of your time, ok? Bitch one and bitch two, go.”

Bucky turns around and heads back to the living room, you trailing behind him, with Steve fast on your heels. Bucky plops down on the couch and when you don’t do the same, Steve snaps and points at it, commanding you to sit. You do.

Steve stands in front of the two of you for a moment, quietly fuming. Then he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “You guys have always had this weird sexual tension,” he says. “Ever since college.”

You can feel your cheeks heat up at that. “It’s not sexual tension,” you reply. “We genuinely don’t like each other.”

“Alright, I don’t believe that for a second,” Steve says. Sighs again. “Fine, ok, so a _decade_ ago, he peed in your hair! Ok, so she kicked you out of her car! Is that really worth ‘hating’ each other for all these years?”

You and Bucky look at each other, but don’t say anything.

“I am so sick and tired of living like a child of divorce,” Steve continues. “Why don’t you just live together for the summer, see how it goes?”

Still, neither of you speak

“Well, how about this. Nat is bringing her friend Sam over tonight and I’m not gonna ruin the possibility of a perfectly good threesome by having someone bumming on my couch. That goes for you now,” he says, pointing at you, “and you later,” – pointing at Bucky – “which means you two, my gorgeous angels, are about to be homeless in Washington Square Park over a fucking party foul. And I don’t like to give out spare change, so you’re on your own. Good luck, bitches.”


	8. Chapter 8

**_Then_ **

“Please, my sweet, precious angel? Please, please, please?”

“Steve, are you serious?” you say, accusing, looking up at Steve from the driver’s seat of your car. “You said you wanted me to be your DD, so I’m sober and I’m here and I’m ready to go.”

“But I’m not drunk!” Steve replies. “And I’m not ready to leave. Can you please just take Bucky home? Be his DD. You pass his apartment anyway! He has never gotten this drunk before. He needs to go home.”

“STEVE!” Bucky yells from the porch. “I WANT TO MACARANA WITH YOU! Stevie, Stevie, Stevie!”

You both watch as Bucky stumbles his way to the car, and Steve has the nerve to grimace at his friend’s behavior as if he couldn’t have stopped him before he got this bad. Steve catches Bucky as he tumbles into his arms, and Bucky wraps his long limbs around him like he thought Steve was just going in for a hug.

“Well, this is Drunky Barnes,” Steve says, leaning back down into your open window. “Buck, this is my friend, ok? She’s gonna take you home.”

Bucky leans down too, elbows on the window frame, falters a bit when he sees that it’s you. “Well, hello, _Steve’s friend_ ,” he says.

“Hi,” you reply, followed by a tight-lipped smile.

“Thank you, thank you!” Steve says, then starts herding Bucky around the car. “I really appreciate it!”

Steve opens the passenger-side door and Bucky flops into the seat. Once he’s settled into the car, Steve shuts the door and waves goodbye. Bucky ignores him in favor of buckling his seatbelt.

You press on the gas, ready to get this over with, and Bucky groans. “Ugh, fuckin’ fireball.”

You scrunch up your nose. So _that’s_ what the smell is. “I thought you weren’t a big drinker,” you say to him.

“Yeah, well, people aren’t always what they seem,” he replies.

You don’t know what to say to that so you don’t respond. You turn up the radio, just in time to hear James Blunt sing “you’re beautiful” and you want to roll your eyes at the familiarity of it all. It was only two weeks ago when you two were leaving a party together, hand in hand as he drove you to his house. The thought makes your stomach drop.

“Is this yours?” Bucky asks, pulling you out of your daze as he grabs the cup that’s sitting in your cup holder.

“Yeah, I think it’s empty though.”

“Perfect!” he replies. “I’m gonna borrow it.”

Bucky takes the lid off and drops it on the floorboard, then unbuckles his seatbelt and raises his hips up out of the seat. He put the cup between his teeth so that both hands are free, and stumbles through unbuttoning his jeans and pulling down the zipper.

Wait…

“Stop!” you yell “This is my new car! It was a graduation present!”

“I do this all the time,” he says.  “Just shh, shh!”

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God,” you chant, eyes firmly on the road as Bucky fucking Barnes drunk pees in a cup in the passenger seat of your new car. When he’s done, he plops back down in the seat with a sigh, holds the cup up between the two of you, proud.

“Tada!” he exclaims. “See, no spills at all–!”

And the whole cup of pee is on you somehow. It splashes in your face, in your hair. Warm, wet, it dribbles down your neck and soaks your shirt. When you finally realize what just happened, you hit your breaks, car coming to an abrupt stop as you and Bucky both jerk forward in your seats.

“Get _out_ ,” you say, fingers tight on the steering wheel.

Bucky looks around. “But it’s scary here.”

“Get out of my car!” you yell at him. “I hate you!”

“Just chill, ok! Urine is sterile!”

“GET OUT!” you yell again and this time he does, empty pee cup and all.

* * *

  ** _Now_**

You didn’t have much to move in. Most of what you had was yours _and_ Brock’s and you rather not live with any reminders of him. What you have barely takes up any space in your room and the lack of possessions is sort of… freeing. A new start.

You had enough energy to make the bed with the fresh sheets that Steve bought you as a “housewarming” present, but that’s it. You’re tired, physically and emotionally. It’s been a whirlwind week-and-a-half and all you want to do is sleep sleep sleep for another week, but tomorrow’s Monday and you’ve used up all your vacation days at work.

You lay in bed and think about Brock. You actively try _not_ to think about Brock. And, you know it’s dumb, but you can’t help thinking about James, too. It would be nice to talk to someone who isn’t involved in the mess that is your life, someone who could help you escape reality, if only for a little while.

So, you call. And after the standard prep and questions, and a personal request for James, you get him on the line. Your heart starts beating faster at the sound of his voice, the butterflies in your stomach flap their wings. It’s stupid, this schoolgirl crush on a stranger on the phone. But you can’t help it, so you just roll with it.

“Why are we whispering?” James asks, whispering too.

“Someone’s in the other room and I don’t want him to hear me,” you tell him. “It’s… complicated. And temporary.”

You hear his hum in understanding. “Oh, I won’t ask then,” he says, voice quiet and deep. “I’m glad you called, though. I’ve been thinking about you.”

“Yeah right,” you respond with a laugh. “You’re already getting my money. You don’t have to gas me up.”

“I’m serious! I like your voice. And… I like the sound of you moaning. The sound of you coming.” He laughs low, deep. “And I like your sincerity. When people call, it’s… bullshit. Understandably. But with you it’s _different_ , somehow.”

“James…”

“And I like the way you say my name,” he continues. “But I told you that last time, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” you say. “You did.”

“Relax,” he replies. “You’re in good hands. And speaking of good hands, how about we finish that massage from before? I don’t think we got passed your ass last time…”

* * *

When you two get off of the phone, you have no problem falling asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

**_Then_ **

It’s not until the summer after the semester from hell that you feel like you can finally breathe.

You aced all of your classes, even poli-sci 101 featuring Bucky Barnes, and your roommate is visiting her parents out of state so you get the whole apartment to yourself for a month. You got hired at a smoothie shop close to your place where you can drink all the free smoothies you want and get some reprieve from the city heat. Steve is still around, making your life both awesome and arduous in the special way that only he can.  And you met someone who might have some dating potential. Maybe. Possibly.

All in all, the summer is shaping up to be pretty fantastic.

You’re wiping down the counter while Steve is slurping on some sickening-sweet smoothie. It’s mid-afternoon, the slowest part of the day, and Steve has made it a habit of visiting you around this time, helping your shift go by faster.

“We’re having a bon voyage party of sorts for Bucky,” Steve tells you. “A bunch of friends just hanging out. Do you want to come? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you being there.”

You try not to look too curious, but your interest was piqued as soon as Steve said Bucky’s name. You haven’t seen Bucky in a few weeks, since the semester ended, and you hate to admit it, but he hasn’t too far from your mind. You’re angry, yeah, but there’s something… something that keeps pulling you back to him.

“Where is he going?” you ask, nonchalant.

“Fort Benning,” Steve replies, “in Georgia. basic training. He’s always planned on going, but I thought he was gonna graduate first. But, you know, they’re gonna put him through school and yeah… Why don’t you come? Hang out, have some fun?”

Your breath catches a little. _He’s going to the army._ Will you ever see him again?

Do you even want to?

“You said it’s for friends,” you reply. “I’m sure I would be out of place there.”

“Are you still mad that he peed on you?” Steve asks. “It was 100% an accident. He feels really bad about it. The parts that he remembers, anyway.”

“I just got the urine smell out of my car,” you tell him, a little more petulant than you planned on sounding. “Or maybe I’m just used to it now.”

Steve snorts out a laugh around a mouth full of smoothie. You glare at him, tight-lipped, trying to hold back a laugh yourself.

“Oh, that’s funny?” you ask.

“It’s kind of funny,” Steve replies. “You have to admit, it’s kind of funny. It’s a funny college story and in a few years, you’re gonna think about it and laugh your ass off. And tonight, at Bucky’s bon voyage party, I’m gonna tell it, and everyone else is gonna laugh their ass off. So, you _have_ to be there so we can all laugh at you.”

“Steve –“

He sighs. “I don’t want him to go,” he says. “So I’m trying to make light of the situation. I _really_ don’t want him to go.”

You don’t want him to go either.

* * *

 

  ** _Now_**

“Bucky,” you call, knocking on the bathroom door. “Bucky, you’ve been in there for like an hour. I have to get ready for work.”

“Alright,” he yells back. “Come in. I don’t mind.”

You consider not going in, dreading finding out what’s on the other side. But you have to at least brush your teeth. You can’t go back to work with dragon breath. So, you open the door and immediately your eyes are drawn to Bucky lounging in the bathtub. Covered in bubbles.

What did you do to deserve this?

“Don’t mind me,” he says, head back and eyes closed. “I’m just relaxing before work.”

“Must be nice,” you reply, slowly and carefully walking over to the sink.

You take the time to check Bucky out, you know, only because he’s _there._ His hair is piled up on top of his head, which should not be as hot as it is, and with his head tilted back the long line of his neck is exposed and enticing. His chest is wet and glistening, billowing out from under the bubbles, his arms lounging across either edge of the clawfoot tub. The light from the window above is hitting him just right, bathing him in a golden glow and… Jesus Christ, he looks _amazing_.

You still hate him, but damnit, you’re only human.

“Is this --” you start, then clear your throat. “Is this gonna be an everyday thing?”

“Do you have something against bubble baths?” he asks.

“Nope, just curious,” you reply. “But if it is, then maybe we should figure out a schedule so we can have _individual_ bathroom time.”

“Cool,” Bucky says, then he sighs, sinking deeper into the tub. “Sounds like a plan.”

You glare at him, frustrated. Your heart is beating a mile a minute and you can barely breath, being so close to Bucky, enclosed in this little space while he lounges naked in the bath, carefree.

“I was also thinking about that gross _barf_ color you have on the walls of your living room,” you say to him as you put a glob of toothpaste on your toothbrush, “and I thought a dove gray would actually really open up the space.”

You hear the water start to move, and you turn around to look at Bucky as he sits up. His blue eyes are narrowed, staring at you. He’s too wet, too close. All it would take is one step for you to be able to reach out and touch him.

“I get two walls, you get two walls,” he says, “and you can do whatever you want with them.”

He gives you a tight-lipped smile and you reply with one in return. “Fine,” you say as you turn back around, rolling your eyes as you go.

“Alright, look,” Bucky says, “we have issues, ok, but we have to get over them. Neither of us want to live with the other, but here we are, so we might as well make the most out of it.”

You turn back around to face him, leaning a hip on the sink and crossing your arms. Bucky, in turn, runs his palm over his face, scratching at the scruff with an exasperated sigh.

“I’m sorry for getting shit faced drunk, getting into your car, peeing in a cup, and somehow getting said pee all over your car and person. It was an accident, ok, and I’ve apologized and I don’t know what else you want me to do to atone for it.”

_That’s why he thinks you’re mad. Goodness gracious, how dense._

“But at least it wasn’t malicious,” he continues. “And at least I didn’t do it without any regard to who I was _hurting_.”

“What are you –“

You’re interrupted by Bucky’s phone ringing _(Nicki Minaj, Bucky, really?)_ and he picks it up from where it’s sitting on his towel.

“Shit I have to take this,” he says, looking at the screen.

He grabs his towel and hops out of the bath, splashing water everywhere and taking only enough time to cover his junk before he starts making his way out of the bathroom, phone in hand. You watch him walk away, confused as ever.

“We’ll finish this later!” Bucky says, voice echoing down the hall, and then his door slams shut.


	10. Chapter 10

  ** _Then_**

**_(Five Years Ago)_ **

Bucky has always had an easy chemistry with people. He’s friendly, funny, openly affectionate with everyone he meets. Even now, after being back and forth from overseas for years in the army, not having seen most of these people since college and maybe never having met them at all, he’s still welcomed with open arms and welcoming to everyone who crosses his path.

Steve didn’t tell you that Bucky was going to be at his birthday party. Whether he didn’t think you’d care or he thought you’d bail, you don’t know. But when you caught sight of him for the first time in five years, in a cheesy red, white, and blue crop top that shows off arms that are twice as big as they were last time you saw them, you almost pass out from lack of oxygen.

You have to remind yourself to breathe, and as you do, your eyes wander further down, to his exposed stomach ridged with muscles, to his hips bare for his low-slung jeans.

The air around you is sweltering, and it’s not just because of the July heat. You resist the urge to fan yourself, opting instead to clutch your empty glass between both hands. When you drink your fill of Bucky’s body, your eyes drift back up to his face, where your gaze catches his own.

Your initial reaction is to bolt, hail a cab out on the street and text the friend that you came with that you had an emergency. You take a few steps further into the crowd before you decide not to bail on Steve and his Birthday Bonanza. You’re a grown woman, you can deal with being in the same room with Bucky Barnes for a little while longer.

So, you go to the bar to get a refill on your Shirley Temple, so you can shrink in a corner somewhere with it and pray to the gods that Bucky doesn’t cross your path again.

“I think we’re the only people in this bar who aren’t completely shit-faced.”

Your heart starts pounding in your chest and you have to take a few breaths before you can look up. When you do, Bucky is standing beside you, sipping something bright blue and sweet smelling out of a plastic straw. He smirks around it as he leans against the bar.

“Yeah,” you manage to say, like déjà vu. “I’m not a heavy drinker.”

“Me neither,” he replies. “I like to keep my wits about me. Plus, I don’t really trust designated drivers. Last time I got wasted, my DD kicked me out of her car and left me on the side of the road. I almost got _murdered_.”

You roll your eyes and he smiles, warm and bright. There’s obviously no hard feelings on his part, but you don’t know what to think or how to act.

“She probably had a pretty good reason,” you reply. “Something to do with being covered in urine, I imagine.”

He has the nerve to blush, reaching his hand up to scratch at the back of his neck. “Tragic accident aside,” he says, “I _could’ve_ gotten murdered. And it would’ve been all her fault. She’d probably still be mourning me.”

“You sound bitter,” you tell him with a small laugh. “Do you want some pepper to go with that salt?”

Bucky bites his bottom lip. “That depends. Is your name Pepper?”

* * *

 

Ten minutes later, you two are making out in a stall in the women’s restroom. It’s not that classiest thing you’ve ever done, but it’s been too long since you’ve been kissed like this. And Bucky’s lips are warm and sweet, soft but insistent against yours.

His big hands grab at you, clutching your body to his. His arms wrap around your back, fingers digging between your shoulder blades, sliding up into your hair. You feel him everywhere – your mouth, you skin, underneath your own hands.

Bucky bunches up your dress to touch at your legs, fingertips dancing over soft flesh, palms moving up to cup the back of your thighs, right below your ass.

Your heart is beating with the pounding of the music from the bar outside, a dull rhythm travelling through your body. You feel high on just Bucky’s presence, light and carefree. And after a string of ill-suited partners, either shitty or incompatible or both, who you either lack affection or passion, chemistry or connection with, being with Bucky is like waking up from a long, stale sleep.

You imagine how it could have been, under different circumstances. But you push it down, try to stay in the moment, and ignore the past and the future.

“We need to talk,” Bucky says, lips against your lips. “We should talk about what happened… before.”

“No,” you whine, moving down to nip at his neck. “We can talk about it another time.”

“Another…?” he replies, hands on your shoulders to move you back a little. When you two are face to face he cups you cheeks in his palms. “I’m shipping out tomorrow. I’m going back to Afghanistan.”

You gasp, feeling like you’ve just been dunk in freezing cold water. That free, floating feeling is gone and all the emotions you’ve been repressing for five years are starting to make their way up to the surface.

“I get it,” you say. “This was gonna be just another hook up. And then you were gonna leave again.”

“No! What –“

You push against his chest to try to get some space, but he has nowhere to go in the small stall. You start to feel confined and closed in, trapped like an animal in a cage with something bigger and badder than yourself. You have to get out.

“I should’ve known that all you wanted was an easy fuck!” you yell, pushing him again.

“You’re kidding, right?!” Bucky yells back, teeth bared and brows furrowed. “You think _I’m_ the one who was just trying to fuck?”

You fingers scrabble against the lock and you have to shoulder Bucky out of the way in order to open the door and get out of the stall. He catches your wrist in his hand on your way out, but you shake him off. As you do, a group of women walk into the bathroom, stopping in their tracks when they see the two of you.

“Are you ok?” one of them asks, giving Bucky a wary glance.

“I’m fine, thank you,” you reply, trying to hold back the tears. You feel stronger, now that there’s some other people in there with the two of you. But more sad, instead of angry.

You know your eyes are watering when your turn back to Bucky, but the tears aren’t spilling over, not yet. 

“You,” you say, calm and with as much composure as you can muster. “Don’t ever talk to me again.”


	11. Chapter 11

“I have to let you go. I’m old. I’m tired. And let’s face it, it’s time to shut the place down.”

You stare at your boss, blank-faced as he  _fires_  you. This is the last thing you expected to happen today, but the way that your life is going, you can’t find it in yourself to be surprised. You’ve already lost your boyfriend and your apartment, it’s only fitting that you lose your job too.

At least now you’ve finally hit rock bottom. Things can only go up from here. Right?

“You’re smart,” he continues, “that’s why I hired you. And that’s why you’re gonna be great out there on your own.”

You think about the years you put into the company, assuming you were building a career and a future there. You’re going to have to start all over now. Find a new job at a new place. No telling how long that will take. You have a little bit of savings, but that will only go so far. And Bucky will probably kick you out once he finds out you have no way to pay rent.

And the one thing worse than living with Bucky Barnes is having no place to live at all.

“I thought I would take over when you retired. What about your clients?” you ask your boss.

“You’re gonna be great,” he repeats, “out there on your own.”

* * *

Your first instinct is to call Brock, so without thinking, you take your phone out and dial his number. You listen to the phone ring as you travel down the sidewalk, wandering aimlessly away from your  _former_  job.

You know that you should just get on the subway, go back to the apartment and spend the rest of your day moping in the comfort of your own… home. But you don’t. You don’t want to go back there just yet.

The phone rings and rings and rings, and finally the line clicks, and your heart flutters.

“Buongiorno! It’s Brock. I can’t get to my phone right now because I’m probably doing something awesome in Italy, but I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Ciao!”

You sigh in frustration as you end the call. What were you thinking calling Brock? He probably ignored you on purpose. The bastard.

You continue to walk and walk and walk until you see it. The answer to all your problems: a spa. A nice massage would do you some good. It would help you relax and get your head on straight so you can figure out what to do next. No, you can’t really afford it considering your circumstances, but…

“You’re in luck,” the receptionist tells you. “We just had a cancellation.”

You only have to wait a few minutes before she leads you down a dimly lit hall, serene music softly playing out of discreetly placed speakers. Most of the doors along the hall are closed, but the receptionist stops at the one that’s ajar and knocks twice before opening it all the way.

She directs you into the room, and as soon as you step across the threshold, you want to run the other way. Standing in the middle of the room, smoothing out a white sheet on the massage table, is Bucky fucking Barnes.

“Of course you’re here,” you say, more to yourself than to Bucky. “Why wouldn’t you be here?”

Bucky looks shocked for half a moment, and then his face splits into a big smile. “Not happy to see me?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh, you’re the cherry on top of a perfect day,” you reply.

The receptionist gives a small, awkward cough, then turns and makes her way back down the hall, leaving you alone with Bucky. You watch her as she walks away, desperately wanting to follow her, but you stay put. You won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you tucking your tail and running.

“You can leave if you want,” Bucky says, shrugging his shoulders as you turn around to look back at him.

“Or I can stay and get the massage that I paid for.”

He pats the table with his hand. “Disrobe and hop on, then.”                                                                                                    

You look at him, uncertain, and then cock an eyebrow at him when you realize he’s not making any moves to leave. “Can I have some privacy, please?”

He chuckles and starts to walk out of the room, giving you some space to disrobe. He has his hand on the doorknob as he turns around, eyes glinting in the low light of the room as he says, “As if I haven’t seen you naked before,” before giving you a wink and closing the door.

You flick off the closed door and then start to undress, folding your clothes and placing them on a chair in the corner of the room. Once you’re completely nude, you lay down on the massage table on your stomach and maneuver a fluffy white towel over your ass to protect whatever modesty you have.

You lay there for a few minutes, allowing yourself to relax, before Bucky knocks. He lets himself in to the room, closes the door behind him, then silently starts to move around the room.

You don’t lift your head to look at him, but you hear him when he stops at the top of the massage table, standing over your head. You’re suddenly aware of how close he is, how  _naked_  you are. Goosebumps prick your skin, even in the warmth of the room, and you’re starting to think that this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

“Are you ready?” Bucky asks and you give him a small mumble.

You have to stop yourself from jumping off the table when Bucky places his hands on your shoulder blades. They’re both pleasantly warm, even though one is metal, and you feel yourself instantly melt under his palms.

He glides them down your back on either side of your spine, slow and smooth, and then up the curve of your ass. He moves down to your hips, then back up, around your shoulders. It feels good…  _great_ actually, and when his fingers start to rub circles in the nape of your neck, you tilt your head forward even more to give him better access.

“You  _are_ tense,” Bucky says, thumbs pressing into the knots in your shoulders. “Must be that stick up your ass.”

You sigh. “I got fired,” you say. Damn him, you were just starting to relax. “So, yeah, I’m a little tense.”

Bucky hums, repeating his motions, down your back, ass, hips, and up. “That sucks,” he finally replies. “I hope you have a way to pay your rent. I’m not about to be your sugar daddy.”

“I’ll figure it out,” you tell him.

He doesn’t give you a response, just continues to massage you, firm hands kneading your muscles just right, the slick slide of oil against your skin soothing you back in to a peaceful state of relaxation. You can feel the heat of his body as he leans over your own, smell his soft scent mingled with the calming aroma of the room. You haven’t felt this tranquil and untroubled in a long while.

“Getting fired isn’t so bad,” Bucky says, breaking the silence. “Sometimes it’s nice to be able to have a new start. And I’m sure you’ll be back on your feet in no time, girl as smart as you.”

You figure you should say something, but you’re sort of dazed by that random compliment. He doesn’t say anything after that, only moves so that he’s at your side now. He presses the heels of his hands into your lower back, then slowly slides them up.

“I called my ex,” you tell him, “like a dumbass.”

“Yeah? How’d that go?”

“He didn’t answer,” you say. “He’s in Italy having an  _awesome_ time, apparently. Or so his voicemail –  _ohh_  –“ you moan as Bucky presses into a particularly tender spot.

You face flushes hot as soon as the sound passes your lips, but Bucky’s movements never falter. He doesn’t comment on it either, and you figure that if he can ignore the fact that your practically  _moaned_  because of him, then you can too.

“Can you,” you start to say, but then you have to clear your throat and start again. “Can you believe that asshole? He calls  _me_  boring, breaks up with me, kicks me out of my apartment, then goes to Italy like nothing happened. He’s the boring one. He doesn’t –  _ahh_  – even take his socks off when he’s having sex.  _You’re doing that on purpose, you jerk!_ ”

“I promise I’m not,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “It’s just that… your story really resonates with me, you know, because I don’t think you’re boring at all.”

“You don’t?” you ask, surprised.

“No. Anyone who has phone sex with a complete stranger can’t be all that boring,” he says, then leans down and whispers in your ear, “Isn’t that right… Pepper?”

“WHAT?” you gasp as you turn your head to look at him. “NO!”

You can’t move much, being naked and all, but you twist around enough to see his face, that huge smile. You’re too aware that his hands haven’t left your back, but they’re not moving. If anything, you feel like he’s holding you down so that you can’t leave.

“YES!” he says, laughing.

“NO! JAMES??”

“We phone fucked!” he says, nodding his head.

“OH MY GOD!”

“You totally got off to me phone fucking you!”


	12. Chapter 12

“Hey, baby, I was waiting up for you.”

You roll your eyes.

Ugh, he’s at it  _again._  You’ve been actively trying to avoid Bucky since your revelation yesterday, but it’s so hard when he’s just on the other side of your bedroom wall, getting his rocks off at all hours of the day and night. And you, now jobless, have nothing to do but sit in your room and listen to him.

You had some reprieve when you were in the shower, but now that you’re back in your room, with its thin walls, you can hear his deep voice wafting through the air.

“What are you wearing, babygirl?” Bucky asks the person on the other line.

“Oh, just an  _itty bitty_  towel,” you say to yourself, mockingly. “I just got out of the shower and I am still  _soaking_ wet.”

You scoff and roll your eyes again as you prop a foot up on your bed. You start to put lotion on your legs, quietly, listening even though you hate yourself for listening.

You can hear Bucky moan. “Is that so?” he asks, a smile in his voice. “We need to get that off of you, don’t you think? Mmm… I think so. I think that we need to get you completely naked, not a stitch of anything on, so I can touch you all over.”

“Oh yeah?” you say in to your empty bedroom, a little less sarcastic than before. “Where would you touch me first?”

With only one leg done, you abandon the lotion on your nightstand and crawl into bed, laying stomach-down on the soft sheets. You stretch out, arms up, hands beneath your pillow. One knee is bent, the other straight out, and you sigh as you get cozy.

“I have to get my hands on that ass,” you hear Bucky say. “Massage it, feel your soft skin underneath my palms. Smack it. Then, I’m gonna spread you open so I can get to your pussy. See if you’re wet for me already.”

So, yeah. You are absolutely  _fucked_.

You don’t know about the women on the phone, but when you slide you hand between your legs, you can feel how warm and wet you are. It’s just that… James’s voice is beautiful, even muffled through the wall, so smooth and deep.

No, not James.  _Bucky._

He’s Bucky, not some voice on the phone you’ve been pining over like a school girl with a crush. But  _Bucky_ , who with all his faults and all of your bad blood, makes you feel like you’re 18 all over again.

“Yeah, you’re  _nice_ and wet,” Bucky says, cocksure as always. “It’d be so easy just to slide my fingers into that tight, went pussy. Fuck you with them good and slow.”

You know how it feels for Bucky to touch you. You know how it feels when his hands are on your body, massaging you. You know what is feel like to have his fingers inside of you, even though it was so many years ago. And you’d be lying to yourself if you said you haven’t thought about that night. Vividly. And often.

“Are you touching yourself, baby?” Bucky asks. Then, a few moments later, “What are you waiting for? Do you need permission? … Yeah? I  _knew_  you were a good girl.”

Bucky laughs a little, soft and low. It’s a deep rumble that reverberates through your body, straight to your core. It’s shameful, what he can do to you with just his voice. For all that you can’t stand him, you can’t seem to get him out of your head. The feeling of being so close, so intimate with him, out of your… heart.

“I want you to put your fingers in your mouth,” Bucky says. “Get them all wet for me. Are you doing it?”

You moan in affirmation around two of your fingers as you suck on them, getting them wet like he told you to do. Like he… told the person on the phone to do.

“Go ahead and touch yourself, sweetheart.”

So you do. You bring your spit-wet fingers down between your thighs and slide them across your pussy, slick and warm. You haven’t touched yourself since that night on the phone with  _James_ and now you’re so sensitive. Even the slightest touch has your whole body shivering.

“I bet you look so fuckin’ nice all spread out on your sheets,” Bucky says, and his voice sounds ragged, rough. “I bet you look so good playin’ with yourself, those little fingers sliding inside your pussy, stuffing you full.”

You wonder if he touches himself while he’s working, whether he strokes his cock as he listens to the sounds coming from the other side of the phone. What does he look like? Back arching, hips thrusting. The muscles in his arm flexing as he slowly, slowly slides his hand up and down his dick.

Or does he use his metal arm? Is it gleaming in the low light of the room, shining fingers slick and wet with his own precum? Is it firmer, more unyielding? Does is feel better than his other hand made of flesh and blood?

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Bucky moans. “Nothing like my cock, though, babygirl. Nothing like my big, hard cock fill you up just the way you like.”

You think about him inside of you, his hips between your thighs. You think about your hands clinging to his strong, broad back, holding his body close to yours. Good lord, if you could see him now. Is his neck tilted back, hair spread out against his pillow? Mouth open, lips bitten red? Are his languid strokes getting faster and faster? Will he make himself come?

The thought of Bucky lost in pleasure, his hand stroking his cock, has you quickly tipping over the edge. You circle your hips, grinding down on your fingers, massaging your clit faster and faster.

“Damn, already?” Bucky asks, somewhere between a laugh and a moan. “All I had to do is slide my dick inside of that tight pussy and you’re ready to come? So fuckin’ eager. I fuckin’  _love_  it.”

You put your hand over your mouth to try to stifle your moans, because if you can hear Bucky, you’re sure he’d be able to hear you if you’re not careful.

“Don’t hold back, baby. I love how you sound. Those sweet little moans. Fuck. Moan for me, babygirl. Let me hear how good I’m making you feel.”

You pull your bottom lip in between your teeth, biting down hard. You grab on to the pillow with your free hand, clenching it in your fist as you come, the intense pleasure that’s been building and building uncoiling sharp and sudden.

When you come down, everything is silent. You’re disappointed that you’ve missed Bucky’s own release, but you can’t find it in yourself to care that much when you feel this good, relaxed and calm and floating like a cloud for the first time in a very long time.

You reach over to turn off your table lamp, not even bothering to put on any clothes for bed before you snuggle underneath your covers, cozy and content.

You flinch in surprise when you hear three short raps on your door.

“Next time I’m charging you!”                            


	13. Chapter 13

“How’d you know it was me?”

“ _Well_ , you go around telling everyone your life story,” Bucky replies. “You told ‘James’ about your dickhead ex-boyfriend and how he broke up with you because he thought you were boring, kicked you out, then went on vacay in Italy. And you had to have been local since the line  _is_  1-900-NYC-CHAT.”

The microwave beeps and Bucky removes his bowl of whatever take-out he ordered earlier in the day. Without even checking the temperature, he dives right in, stuffing his mouth with a fork-full of cream covered pasta that actually doesn’t look half bad.

“Then you told  _me_  the same exact thing while I was giving you a rub down,” he continues, his mouth still full, “and it wasn’t that hard to put it all together. What a hell of a coincidence, though.”

You groan. “This is humiliating, you know that? I am mortified. This has been the worse couple weeks of my entire  _life_. AND I was  _not_  doing anything last night for you to ‘charge me.’ It’s not like I want to hear you jerk off to a half dozen strangers every night.”

Bucky laughs, and if he knows you’re lying, at least he doesn’t call you on it.

“God, do you think I’m actually jackin’ it all night?” he asks. “Hell no. This is strictly business. Plus, my dick would be chafed raw by now and that is not a good look.”

“Thank you, Bucky Barnes, for that wonderful mental image,” you say and Bucky just shrugs, grinning around his fork.

You can’t help my smile back before quickly hiding it by taking a sip of your drink. He doesn’t reply, but you don’t say anything either. You two just lean against the kitchen counters opposite each other in companionable silence, nothing but big band music on the radio that Bucky insists on having on low volume 24/7.

It’s not awkward until it is, the two of your stealing glances at each other while trying to do anything but. Him, shoveling pasta down his throat. You, watching your finger as it runs circles around the rim of your glass.

“Sooo,” you start, trying to break the silence, “now that you know my story, what’s yours?”

He sighs. “Uh, well, after I lost my arm and retired from the army, I went into a depression. My bubbe – my grandma – let me move in with her but my grandpa died a few years before and she was basically just waiting to go too. After she passed, I had to start taking care of myself again. I had to pay rent, pay bills, eat. I saw an ad in the  _Village Voice_  for a phone sex line and I called it and I nailed my interview. And that’s how I’m here.”

“Masseuse by day, phone sex operator by night,” you say.

“You knew James was a masseuse,” Bucky replies with a wink. “Though I do prefer the term ‘massage therapist.’”

You nod your head. “Alright, noted. So, how does it work? The phone sex thing.”

Bucky sits his empty bowl down on the counter behind him and then crosses his arms in front of his broad chest. You don’t think you will ever get over the sheer size of him, how he manages to fill up all the space in a room.

“Basically, like whatever they say, I just tell them I wanna lick it,” he tells you. “Nipples, lick ‘em. Hairy balls, lick ‘em all.”

You grimace. “Ok, ew.”

“Oh, come on,” Bucky says as he reaches across the empty space between the two of you for your glass. “You have to know some dirty words. Didn’t you talk during sex with Brock?”

You hand the drink over. “I mean, he loved it when I would tell him he was sexy.”

“Oh, wow,” he laughs, the sound echoing in the glass already raised to his lips.

“Whatever,” you reply. “I meant, how do you get the calls?”

“It’s easy. I just tell the company when I’m on and they forward me the calls. They charge like $4.99. And I’m getting $1 a minute. Which is a decent enough living for me. Except I’m always going over my cell phone minutes, but…” he shrugs and hands your drink back.

“Ok, first, get a landline,” you say. “Second, you’re wasting your time for a buck a minute and this depraved company you work for makes four times as much as you for doing nothing. Get your own hotline.”

“Ok, rude. I’ve thought of that. It just sounds like a ton of work.”

You motion for his empty bowl and he takes it off the counter and hands it to you. “It’s not a ton of work,” you tell him as you turn your back to him and put both your glass and his bowl in the sink to wash them. “You just call the phone company, they’ll give you a new number, you’ll set up a PayPal account, tell your repeat callers your new number, and you’re done.”

You can feel him come up behind you, his body almost pressed against your back, but not quite. His hands are on the counter in front of you, arms bracketing you in on either side of your body. You’re not touching, but he’s just close enough to feel the heat coming off of him. To feel the hairs standing up on the back of your neck.

“You seem to know how to do this,” Bucky says, his voice pitched low. “Help me make this a business and I’ll pay $100 of your rent until you get another job.”

You turn around in the space between his arms and he straightens up, bringing his arms back to his side. He’s smirking, blue eyes sparkling like he just knows you’re going to say yes. Cocksure, like no one has ever told him no in his life. You’ll gladly be the first.

“No.”

“Ok, I’ll pay $100 of your rent  _forever_ ,” Bucky tells you, placing his hands on his hips.

You step sideways, trying to get some space so you can  _breathe_. “I have an interview at Laxton Press tomorrow,” you say, and he’s right there with you, shuffling to the side so he stays in front of you. “It is the second-best publishing house in the world. It’s my dream job and I’m perfect for it.”

“Well, you go get your fancy-pants boring job and I’ll just be here being exciting.”

“Fine,” you huff.

“Fine,” Bucky repeats, then he turns and retrieves his phone, ringing on the counter. “It’s Dot, my 10 o’clock regular,” he says, then turns to leave the kitchen, making his way to his bedroom. “You know, you’re not better than me! You’re not better than phone sex!”

You nod your head. “I’m better than phone sex.”


	14. Chapter 14

“Look, I am qualified. I am more than qualified for this job. I have wasted the last five years of my life working for the wrong company. I’m ready to take my career to the next level which is why I’m here with you.”

Gah, you’re so nervous that you can’t stop the word vomit from passing your lips. But you _need_ this job. You need something to go right for once. And you need a way to pay your bills and your rent before you’re thrown out on your ass again.

“I’m the most organized person you’ll ever meet,” you continue. “I’m the most hard-working person you’ll ever meet. Probably one of the smartest –“

“Listen, the job we called you in for was filled via nepotism this morning,” Maria tells you. “Actually, it’s not really nepotism. It’s cronyism or… I don’t know what it’s called when you hire someone’s nephew, but there’s not job. And there won’t be another one for about three months for a junior editor.”

Your heart drops down to your stomach. “Three months?” you ask. “I _really_ need a job now.”

Maria sighs. “From the look of your resume, you’ve had everything planned out since you were five years old. Maybe take the summer off. Do something spontaneous, fun.”

“Spontaneous,” you repeat, still shell-shocked. “Fun.”

You stand up and gather your things, sticking everything haphazardly into your bag. Your movements are robotic and you can’t even look at Maria in the eye. You were banking on this job and now you have no idea what you’re going to do.

Maria holds her hand out for you to shake. “We’ll be in touch.”

* * *

 

“You fucking piece of fucking motherfucking shit!”

“Hey!” you call out, making your way into the living room. “What the hell are you doing?”

When you get there, you see Bucky sitting on the floor, back leaning against the front of the couch, his left arm on top of the coffee table along with a couple of screwdrivers and some other tools you don’t really know the names of. A piece of his prosthetic is off and you can see inside to all the wires and mechanical parts. The scene in front of you feels like a private thing, and you don’t know whether you should engage him more or just leave.

“I’m fixing my arm,” he says, not stopping to look up at you. “What does it look like?”

You hover beside the couch. “Aren’t there like… _professionals_ that can do stuff like this?” you ask him.

“ _I_ can do stuff like this,” he replies. “It’s better than having someone else fiddling around inside of me. It shouldn’t be _this_ complicated.”

You hesitantly take a seat next to Bucky on the floor, careful not to bump him.

You’ve never had the opportunity to openly appreciate his prosthetic arm before and now, watching him as he works on it, you can only describe it as… beautiful. The metal is sleek and unsmudged, shining without being reflective. The plates fit together smooth at the seams, faultless except for the piece removed so Bucky can see inside.

“It looks complicated,” you tell him, in awe of the complexity and workmanship of it.

“I’m a trained military engineer,” he replies. “I worked under Colonel James Rupert Rhodes. I think I can replace a few screws.”

You can feel yourself becoming frustrated at his stiff and cold answers. “I don’t know who that is but alright,” you say. “I didn’t know that you’re an engineer.”

“I _was_ an engineer. Then, I got blown to bits and retired,” he responds, still not looking at you. Instead, all of his attention is on his arm, where he’s poking around with a metal tool. “Stark, the guy who makes these prosthetics, offered me a job after, but, I don’t know. I was in a real shitty place then.”

“What about now?”

“What _about_ now?” he asks, finally looking up at you.

You hate to admit that you’re a little hurt by his tone. And more than anything, you’re taken aback by his attitude when things were just starting to be ok between the two of you. You guess, like all things where Bucky Barnes is involved, that was destined to be short lived.

“OK, well, you obviously don’t want to talk about it. So –“ you start to get up, but Bucky gently touches your elbow with his flesh hand.

“No, I’m sorry,” he says. “I just… I get irritable when my arm starts acting up. It just reminds me how fucking broken I am.”

Bucky is usually so confident that you had no idea he felt like that. And in your bewilderment, you don’t know what to say. But the seconds are ticking away as you look at him, him looking at you, and the silence in the room starts to become deafening.

“You’re not broken, Bucky,” you finally tell him. “I wish you didn’t feel that way.”

He gives you a small smile, one corner of his mouth upturned, but his eyes still look sad. He goes back to work on his arm, tinkering with the pieces inside with his tool.

“My elbow jammed up,” he tells you. “It’s happened before. Last time all I had to do was – FUCK!“

Bucky’s arm sparks and then starts to whirr, everything coming alive all at once. He puts his tool down and lifts his arm off the table, bending it at the elbow a few times to test it out.

“Yes! There we go!” he says, sliding the missing plate back onto his arm. “See? Easy,” as he stands from his place on the floor. “Enough about me. How’d the interview go?”

“Not so good,” you reply, scooting up to sit on the couch. Bucky walks into the kitchen, so you have to talk a little louder. “Laxton Press isn’t hiring a junior editor for another three months.”

When he comes back to the living room, he’s holding a gallon bucket in each hand. “Well, this was supposed to be a congratulatory gift,” he says. “But I guess it can be a buck up buttercup gift instead.”

 “Paint?” you ask.

“Dove grey,” he clarifies.  “To cover the barf walls, as you so tactfully called them.”

“That’s –“ you begin, a little speechless, “so nice of you. Um, I got you something too.”

You open up the shopping bag sitting next to your feet and bring out the phone that you bought on your way home from the pointless interview. The one good thing that came of it was Maria suggesting that you do something fun and spontaneous this summer, so that’s what you’re going to do. When you hand the phone to Bucky, he first looks confused, then excited, his whole face lighting up as he holds it to his chest.

“Oh my god you got me a gift!” he says. “And it’s pink! Does that mean…?”

“For the next three months, I’m yours. I wanna make a third of the profits and I’m not getting on the phone. It’s strictly business.”

“I wouldn’t want you on the phone,” he replies. “You wouldn’t have any idea what to do.”

But he gives you a smile and a wink. And, as always, you can’t help but smile back before you continue.

“Also, I want an official truce,” you tell him. “Let’s leave whatever problems we had in the past and start fresh. What do you say?”

You hold out your pinky and after a moment’s contemplation, Bucky hooks his own pinky with yours.

“We have a business!”

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

“Oh, my God. I love the way you feel. You’re so tight around my big, hard cock.”

_Jesus Christ._

“You’re gonna come, aren’t you baby? I can hear it in your voice. You’re gonna come while I pound your tight little hole.”

_Jesus fucking Christ._

You turn to Bucky, where he’s sitting on the couch, casually having phone sex with you right there in the room. He’s been like this lately, more open, not locking himself in his room anymore, but working in the living room, while you two are watching TV, or in the kitchen when you’re eating dinner.

It was a little jarring at first, but you quickly got over the awkwardness of it. You two are professionals, no matter what the business involves. Bucky is just doing his job. And he is very good at it.

He must feel you looking at him, because he turns his head to look back at you, giving you a wink, obviously unbothered by both your presence and the lewd conversation.

You roll your eyes and go back to painting the living room walls the pretty dove grey that Bucky got you two weeks ago. You haven’t gotten around to actually painting until now, being busy since you’ve gotten into the phone sex business.

Behind you Bucky moans, deeper than before. You’re so used to hearing him by now that you know he’s about to “come.” Some labored breathing, some more moans. He curses low under his breath and even though you know it’s fake, the sound still makes you shiver.

“You all done?” he asks the person on the phone. “Ok, call us back, honey. Bye!  _God, I thought he was never gonna come_.”

You snort out a laugh. “You must be losing your touch.”

“We both know that’s not true,” he says, standing up from the couch.

You turn to him with a sarcastic retort on the tip of your tongue, but then he lifts his arms up, up, stretching out his body with a low groan. Your brain short-circuits and all you can think about is his body, going on for miles and miles. Your eyes are drawn to the strip of skin between his shirt and the band of his sweatpants, that light dusting of hair beneath his bellybutton.

“I feel bad,” he says, pulling you from your reverie. “You’re doing all the work.”

You clear your throat and turn back to the wall. “Well, you’re making all the money,” you manage to reply.

Bucky  _has_  brought in lots of clients, from his repeat callers at his old company, through word of mouth and fliers posted around the neighborhood. He’s had a steady stream of costumers since you two opened for business, and gaining more and more every day. With so much business, neither of you barely even leave the apartment anymore, and in such constantly close quarters, you two have been getting more and more comfortable around each other.

You startle a little when Bucky appears beside you, yet again shaking you from your thoughts. You blame your absentmindedness on the paint fumes, and definitely  _not_  from the introspection caused by the bottled up feelings you had for Bucky  ~~slowly~~  (not so slowly) but surely creeping their way to the surface.

Definitely not.

Bucky grabs a roller and starts helping you paint. You don’t know why, because he’s probably going to get another call in about seven seconds, but you do appreciate the effort.

He stands close, stretching over you to get to the parts of the wall that you can’t reach. When you peek over your shoulder you see him looking up, the line of his neck elongated, leading to a sharply sculpted jaw. His metal arm glints in the lamp-light as he moves, closer and closer until he’s practically leaning over your back.

“Are you left handed?” you ask him, just trying to make some conversation in the otherwise silence of the room.

“No, but I’ve taught myself how to use my left hand,” he replies. “It’s not as dexterous, but it never gets tired. It just keeps  _going_  and  _going_  and  _going_  and –" he’s smiling, exaggerating every movement as he speaks.

“Stop. You sound like the energizer bunny.”

He turns to you, wide-eyed and smiling. “That was my nickname in college!”

“We went to the same college, buddy,” you reply. “Nobody called you that. Plus, I think I’d know if it was true.”

You don’t know what possessed you to say that, only that memories of that night hit you full force alongside your words. And Bucky turns to you, like he’s about to say something, but doesn’t. Just looks, arm still raised with the paint roller in his hand pressed against the wall.

“What?” you ask, smiling, trying to play off the awkwardness of the moment.

“Nothing. You just… you got a little –“ he says, warm, rough palm cupping your jaw, thumb swiping softly over your cheek. And then, “I got it!” as his eyes go wide.

He turns back to the wall, like nothing happened. Like there wasn’t almost a  _moment_ between the two of you, and damn you for being so cheesy, but you wouldn’t have minded to see how it would’ve played out if the two of you weren’t so emotionally constipated.

“Why do you look like that?” you ask him, staring at him in profile.

He smiles. “You don’t like the way I look?”

Bucky turns back to you, glances as your eyes, your cheek, stifles a laugh as you wonder at him in confusion. You turn to the other wall and look at the mirror, and there’s grey paint smeared across your cheek and jaw. When you look back at him, his wiggling his grey fingers.

“Oops,” he says, laughing.

“You jerk! You did that on purpose!”

“I did not!” he replies, backing away with you slowly advancing on him. He rounds the couch and sits down, patting the plastic-covered seat next to him. “Plus, the couch is base. You can’t get me here.”

“Fine. I need a break anyway,” you say, flopping down beside him. “I’m surprised you haven’t gotten a call.”

“Oh, so yeah,” Bucky says as he puts his arm across the back of the couch, behind you. “I’ve been thinking and I was wondering if maybe we can hire someone to work for us for $1 a minute? I mean, we’ve been pretty successful so far. I think we can afford it. If only for a couple nights a week.”

You feel a strange twinge in your stomach. It’s a smart idea, but… the business is kind of a thing between the two of you. It would be weird to bring someone else in, when it’s just been you and him for the last few weeks.

“Come  _on_ ,” he prods, leaning his head on your shoulder. “My throat  _hurts_ from all these fake orgasms. What’s gonna happen when my voice goes out, huh? Then we’re screwed.”

You sigh. “Yeah, fine. Yeah, we could do that,” you say, giving in. “But on a trial basis. One night a week until we feel like they’re good enough to be brought on full time.”

“Perfect!” Bucky replies as he perks up, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug.  “Because I already found her!”


	16. Chapter 16

“Stop fidgeting!” Bucky says as he places a firm hand on your knee to keep you still.

You look over at him, sitting beside you on the couch, and manage to glare. It’s hard, considering the fact that he looks  _so damn good_ , wearing a long sleeve shirt despite the summer heat, and a black motorcycle glove on his left hand, which actually looks more bad ass than weird that he’s wearing it inside.

“I’m nervous, ok,” you reply. “You found this girl on  _Craigslist_. Who answers an ad to be a phone sex operator on Craigslist? Weirdos and murderers, that’s who. She’s going to weirdly murder us. If she even is a  _she_.”

Bucky sighs. “I talked to her on the phone already, ok? She’s not a murderer. She is who she says she is. So, you need to just relax.”

“You talked to her already?” you ask him, surprised he didn’t tell you this sooner. “When? Did you have phone sex with her?”

You cringe at your own agitation. You have no reason to be acting this way, really. No reason that Bucky should know about at least. It’s not like you get jealous when he’s on calls. It’s his job, but this person isn’t just a voice, she’s flesh and blood and Bucky wants to hire her. Spend time with her.

“No!” Bucky says with a laugh, seemingly unaware of your inner conflict.

“Because that would be very unprofessional,” you continue. “She’s a potential employee, Bucky.”

“I did  _not_  have phone sex with her, alright? We chatted a little so I could feel her up,” he replies, smirking. “I mean feel her out. Get a feel of her.”

You roll your eyes and you can practically feel the smoke coming out of your ears from trying to keep your cool. But Bucky just knows how to push all of your buttons, whether he knows exactly why you’re irritated or not.

“Shut up,” you tell him, leaning back on the couch and crossing your arms. “You did that on purpose.”

He does the same, crossing his arms over his chest. “Whatever.  _You’re_  the one acting like a weirdo.”

“Whatever.”

“Whatever!”

You two sit in silence for a few minutes, both pouting like petulant children. Your knee accidentally knocks into his, and he knocks yours back. You do it again, purposely this time, and he does too, and before it turns into an all-out brawl, a knock comes from the door and you both stand up from the couch.

“There she is,” Bucky says. “Be nice.”

He leaves your line of sight as he walks down the hall, and you can hear him as he greets  _her._ You move to the other side of the coffee table, where earlier Bucky placed chairs for you and him so that the girl could sit on the couch. You hear a soft laugh waft into the living room and you don’t even stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

“This is Wanda,” Bucky says as he leads the girl into the room. “She said she’s ready for anything you can throw at her.”

“I’m just excited to be here,” she says, smiling. You give her a smile in return, willing it to not look too fake.

“Why don’t you sit down?” you say, motioning to the couch. Wanda sits does as you and Bucky sit on the chairs across from her. “So, tell us why you think you’d make a good phone sex operator.”

She looks a little too bright-eyed and innocent to want to be in this line of work. A little naïve, if she thinks this is glitz and glam instead of just late nights sitting at home in sweatpants. But she does seem eager to be there and ready to work, so you figure you should give her a chance.

“I am fun and loud and creative,” she says. “And I  _love_  giving phone blowies.”

“Phone blowies,” you repeat, somewhat amused. “So, I assume you’re familiar with having phone sex?”

She nods her head. “I had a boyfriend who lived out of town. We were on the phone a  _lot_.”

“Ok, great –"

“Let’s get to the good stuff,” Bucky says, cutting you off. “You need to be comfortable in every situation and be able to respond quickly. What if some guy told you that he wants to fuck your tits? What would you say?”

You nearly choke, shocked at Bucky’s blunt words, but Wanda doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, she moans, “Ohh, yeah, fuck my tits until they’re so raw that you have to move down to my itty bitty, edible gummy-wear thong.”

Bucky nods his head in approval. “That’s awesome,” he tells her.

“Now that we got that out of the way,” you say, side-eyeing Bucky, “this is how is works: I answer the calls, get the billing information, then transfer the person to the operator. When you’re here, I’ll ask if they prefer a man or woman, so I can transfer them to either you or Bucky, and if they don’t have a preference then I’ll just transfer them to whoever is available. And nights where there’s only one operator, they’re just going to take what they can get. It’s been working pretty well for us so far.

“I haven’t had any complaints,” Bucky adds.

“We charge a 10-minute minimum,” you continue, “so the point is to just keep them on the call as long as possible. Just make sure they bring up the sex stuff, ok? You just make small talk from the get go and see what happens after that.”

“A lot of people just cum-and-go but they still get charged the full 10 minutes,” Bucky tells her. “Some people stay a lot longer. You just have to keep them interested.”

“Bucky has some different personas,” you add.

“I do. Different people want different things. And it’s important to keep track of repeat callers and what they like. Some people want ultra sexy, some want super sweet, and it’s up to you figure that out and adjust to it. So, for example, you’re on a call with a client, and you feel like they want to talk to someone fun and cute. What do you say?”

Wanda smiles, flutters her eyelashes to get in to character. “I’m Krissy and I’m from Maui and I love to take my cat to the dog park on Sunday mornings in my bikini.”

“I mean, it’s perfect,” Bucky says as he turns to look at you.

“Amazing,” you respond, deadpan.

You sort of feel bad for disliking her before you even get to know her. She does seem sweet and perfect for the job. A little too friendly, but there’s worse faults someone can have. Your problem is that Bucky seems a little _too_  interested. You know that you have no claim over him. You two have barely spent any time as friends, but that doesn’t mean that that the situation doesn’t still rub you the wrong way

“Monday nights are our night off,” you tell Wanda, “but we work every other night. And this will be on a  _trial basis_. We’ll start at one night a week and go from there. Do you have any questions?”

She smiles. “When do I start?”


	17. Chapter 17

Tonight is Wanda’s first night taking calls, so Bucky decided to take the night off and give her some space to do her thing. So now, you and Bucky are sitting out on the balcony, your chairs facing each other, the cool night air a nice reprieve from the summer’s heat. You’ve taken your phone out with you to answer and transfer the calls, but it’s been a pretty relaxed night.

“Aren’t you a little nervous about –“ you ask, inclining your head to motion to the apartment.

“Nah, she’s good,” Bucky says. “She’s a natural. And that accent is hot as hell. People will love her.”

“If you say so,” you reply, trying to fight off that dull throb deep in the pit of your stomach that you can only describe as jealousy.

Bucky hits your foot with his own. “Be nice. Why are you being so bratty? Wanda’s cool.”

“It’s just a vibe,” you respond, kicking him back. “Call it women’s intuition.”

He kicks you again, but before you can retaliate, he bends down and grabs your ankle to stop the attack.

“Your intuition sucks,” he says as he brings your foot in to his lap, sliding the slipper off and letting it drop to the floor. “You were with Brock for the longest time and he’s clearly a douchebag. And you hated me for even longer, and I’m clearly amazing.”

“And humble,” you reply.

“Yeah, that too.”

He smiles at you, almost shy, then looks down at your foot in his lap. You both fall silent, the noise from the street below the only sounds surrounding you.

Bucky runs his thumb up the arch of your foot, then back down, pressing into the sole. You immediately relax even more, slightly sinking down in your chair as Bucky starts to massage. It’s kind of criminal, how good he is with his hands. You can’t even look at him, afraid he’ll see the satisfaction on your face, so you lean your head back, resting it against the back of the chair.

“Was Brock the one?” Bucky asks, his voice cutting through the silence.

You lift your head and look at him, finding him staring intently at you.

“I thought he was the love of my life,” you reply, but the words taste like ash and lies in your mouth. “Or maybe that’s just what I kept telling myself. Now, I think I was just comfortable, you know? Going through the motions. It was easier to stay with him than put myself back out there again.”

“Yeah, I get it,” he says. “I mean, I don’t really do the relationship thing, but I know how it is to be afraid of going out into the world again. And, I think the worst part is feeling like you’ve wasted precious time, you know? Like, how would life be now if I would’ve done things differently before?”

“But life isn’t so bad now, right?” you ask him.

“Well, I have a good job,” Bucky says. “An amazing apartment. An ok roommate.”

“Just ok?”

“Eh, she’s alright,” he replies, smiling. “It is kind of weird, though, how our lives came back together like this. Who woulda thought?”

“Not me,” you say, honestly.

Bucky hums in reply, then, after a few moments he asks, “Are you still worried about Wanda?” When you nod your head he says, “Come on. Let’s go check on her.”

Bucky stands up and you reach your hands out for him to pull you up from your chair, too. He does, and you two make your way into the house, tip-towing into the living room behind Wanda so you don’t disturb her.

“You’ve got that dick in your hand, yeah?” you hear Wanda ask. “That plastic bag over your head?”

You and Bucky look at each other. You’re a little shocked at her words, but it must be normal conversation, because Bucky doesn’t seem put off at all. He just stifles a laugh at your stunned expression.  

“You feel like a naughty boy, don’t you?” Wanda continues. “You know who else thinks you’re a naughty boy? G-O-D. Forget this number! Do you want God to damn you to hell? Because he  _just did_.”

You see Bucky’s eyes go wide and he runs into the living room, you close behind him. Wanda looks startled at your sudden appearance, but she doesn’t drop the phone.

“What the fuck??” you yell.

“Get the fuck off the phone!” Bucky tells her. “We’re running a business here!”

“God bless you. Jesus loves you,” Wanda says to the caller before hanging up. She stands up after, smoothing down in skirt in a haughty manner. “Your business is disgusting. I am an undercover agent of the Lord. And you two didn’t even know. Not even you. And you seemed smart. I saved some souls tonight. And that’s more than I can say for you two phone whores.”

“Get the  _fuck_  out!” you tell her.

Wanda grabs her bag and makes her way to the door, Bucky following behind her. You stay in the living room, still trying to process what just happened. And then the phone starts to ring – once, twice – and you answer it just to get the noise to stop. You put your ear to the receiver and on the other line you hear a man moan, “Oh, God, I’m coming!” You look down at the phone in your hand, shocked.

“Fucking Craigslist,” Bucky mutters as he walks back in to the living room. “What happened?”

You shrug your shoulders. “I just… picked up the phone and he came,” you tell him. Then, it hits you.  “I should be our second operator. I don’t want to be boring anymore!”

Bucky scoffs. “I appreciate the sentiment, but we just lost half our callers to fucking Jesus of Nazareth back there.”

“Look, I will do whatever you tell me to do,” you say. “I will lick whatever you want me to lick. I will make us _so_  much money. I’m good at everything, you know that.”

Bucky crosses his arms and stares at you, but you can see a small smile on his lips. You try to give him your best pretty-please look and he caves, shaking his head.

“Alright,” he tells you. “I’m gonna take a chance on you, kid. We start training tomorrow.”


	18. Chapter 18

You thought you could do this, but… maybe not. Because, right now, your heart is pounding and your phone is ringing and you’re considering not even picking it up but _you’re_ the one who begged Bucky to let you do this. You can’t chicken out now, not that you know that it’s Bucky on the other line.

“Hello?” you answer, your voice softer than you would have liked.

“Tell me what you’re wearing, you dirty little slut.”

“Oh, my God!” you reply. “Do you really talk to people like that??”

“Yeah, sometimes,” Bucky tells you. “If they want it. Look, I’m just trying to prepare you, ok? Not everyone you talk to is going to be polite. You have to learn to just roll with it, if you want to. If you’re not comfortable, then just hang up. Don’t feel forced to talk to anyone you don’t want to, ok? But if you can’t handle _that_ , then –”

“I can handle it!” you tell him. “I just wasn’t prepared.”

Bucky sighs. “Fine, let’s take a different approach for now. How about you tell me, my precious little phone sex princess, what you are wearing?”

“What do people think is sexy?”

He sighs again. “People will think anything is sexy as long as you’re confident when you say it. You can say you’re wearing a unicorn onesie and if you say it right, someone will bust their load right then.”

“Oh, my god!”

“Stop being a prude!”

“I’m not a prude,” you tell him, pouting. “It’s just awkward, ok? It’s _you_.”

“You’ve had phone sex with me before,” he reminds you. “More than once.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t _know_ it was you.”

“Just pretend, ok?” Bucky says. “That’s what you gotta do. Think about your fantasy person. Picture their face, their body. When the client on the phone is talking to you, just pretend that the person who you want it in the room with you, doing all those things to you.”

OK, well, that shouldn’t be too hard when your fantasy is the one talking to you. It’s way too easy to imagine Bucky there with you, in your bed, his bright blue eyes looking into yours as he talks to you.

Just the thought makes your heart rate speed up again. How did you fall so hard so fast? And when did that even happen? It’s like one day you hated his guts and then the next you were half in love. God, you’re in _trouble_.

“Ok, I can do that,” you finally say.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he replies, “what are you wearing? Honestly.”

You pick at the hem of your skirt. “Just a cute little dress that I bought the other day,” you tell him.

You can hear the smile in his voice when he says, “I love cute little dresses.”

“Oh, yeah?” you reply. “What do you love about them?”

“I love how sweet people look in them,” he says. “How pretty. I like how I can touch their legs whenever I want. If my girl was wearing one – if I _had_ a girl – I’d let my hand drift up her bare thigh. I’d tease her skin with just my fingertips. Then, I’d massage her pussy, nice and slow, get her soaking wet before I slide my hand in to her panties.”

You lay back on your bed, resting against the pillows.

“Then what would you do?” you ask.

You hear him chuckle, deep and soft, on the other side of the line.

“Fuck, I’m not supposed to be dominating the conversation,” he says. “This is supposed to be about you.”

“Don’t stop,” you tell him. “You’re so good at it. I love to listen to you talk.”

“You do?”

You hum in affirmation. “You have a nice voice,” you reply. “When you talk, I can feel it all over my body. It’s like you’re touching me and you’re not even here.”

Bucky laughs again. “See, you’re good at this.”

 _Not good_ , you think, _just honest_.

“Are you more comfortable now?” he asks.

“Mhmm,” you moan, eyes closed, lazy-limbed.

“Alright, then,” he says, voice soft and steady, “on to phase two. I’m gonna teach you some dirty words.”

“I know dirty words,” you tell him.

“What’s your favorite dirty word?”

You have to think about it for a second. “Well I don’t know…”

“My favorite is ‘pussy,’” he says.

“What’s so great about pussy?” you ask.

“What’s so great about pussy??” he repeats. “Everything! How they look, how they feel, how they smell, how they taste. Even better when the person attached to them is amazing. Then, everything is just… a thousand times better.”

You actually meant what was so great about the _word_ pussy but you’re not about to interrupt him when he’s feeling this passionate about something. Especially not when your own pussy is starting to throb, the image of Bucky looking at, touching, smelling, tasting you so clear in your mind.

“Can you say it?” he asks. “Can you say my favorite word?”

“You want me to say ‘pussy,’ Bucky?” you reply, almost breathless.

“Mmm, yeah, tell me what you want me to do to your pussy.”

 _Goodness_ , you’ve heard him talk dirty before, but to be on the receiving end of it, to know that it’s _really_ him talking to you, that’s another thing entirely. You have to remind yourself that this is just a lesson, he’s only teaching you _how_ to have phone sex, not actually trying to phone fuck you right now.

Well, good thing you’ve always been an eager student.

“I want you to taste it,” you tell him. “I want you to put your mouth on it, I want you to fuck me with your tongue and with your fingers. I want to look down and see you between my thighs, face buried in my pussy, as I use your mouth to get off.”

“Fuck,” he sighs. “Are you touching yourself?”

“Yes,” you reply, and you wonder if he knows that you’re telling the truth.

You’ve been touching yourself since he started talking about pussy, lightly stroking your clit through your panties. They’re soaked now, and as you slide your hand beneath the waistband of the flimsy fabric, you feel yourself hot and wet beneath your fingertips.

You feel a little bad. He’s trying to teach you and you’re getting off on it. But it’s not like he has to know. He thinks you’re pretending, right? No harm taking it that one step further.

“Are you ready for the next lesson?” he asks.

“Yes,” you say again, the answer to all his questions. You don’t think you could ever tell him no.

“Can you moan for me?” he continues.

“Moan?” you repeat. “You have to give me something to moan about.”

“How can I, huh? After you come all over my face, what do you want to do then?”

You’re not even thinking at this point, words pouring out of your mouth as you recall your fantasies, what you’ve dreamed about, imagined.

“I want to sit on your dick,” you tell him. “I want to feel every inch of you slide into my tight, wet pussy. And I want you to hold on to my hips as I ride you. I want you to tell me how pretty I am as I take your cock.”

Bucky is the one that moans. “You’re fucking beautiful,” he tells you, “always. I can just imagine you riding my cock now, tits bouncing, eyes closed in pleasure, moans spilling from that perfect mouth of yours.”

And you are moaning now, without prompting. Your fingers are moving faster against your clit, back arching off the bed. You have to bite your lip to keep yourself from being too loud, for fear that Bucky will know what you’re doing, that you’re actually about to come from just his words.

But on the other line, Bucky seems to be in the same predicament. You can hear his harsh breaths, his moans, his sighs. Damn, he’s good.

“Are you gonna come?” you ask him. “Come for me, Bucky, please. Come _with_ me.”

“Yes, I’m coming,” he answers you. “Fuck, I’m coming.”

And so are you, thighs trembling, muscles tightening. You feel like your whole body is on fire, skin hot and damp. You can’t control the sounds coming from your mouth now, letting them flow out of you as you listen to Bucky, too, finding his own release.

You two stay silent on the line for a few moments, the only sound is your breathing.

“So, how was that?” you finally ask.

“I think you’re officially a phone sex operator.”


	19. Chapter 19

Bucky threw you head-first in to the whole phone sex thing. You thought you’d just be getting the overflow from Bucky’s callers, a few clients here and there, but since the word got out that you have both a male and female operator, you’ve been getting more and more calls.

You’re not complaining, more calls mean more money, and with you still being without any other means of income, are just happy to have a job. Plus, it’s really not so bad. Yeah, you’ve learned about kinks you never even knew existed, but even though you’ve been pushed past your comfort zone on more than one occasion, you haven’t had to put anyone on the block list yet, so you figure you’re off to a good start.

But by the time Steve’s birthday rolls around, you’re grateful for the break. He has it at the same bar every year, and although the Fourth of July is on a Monday this year, the place is packed. Steve’s definition of “a few close friends” apparently means all of Brooklyn, and you’ve only seen Steve once tonight, to wish him a happy birthday and to tell him that you’ll give him his gift another time, when you two aren’t in a bar with a million other drunk people.

The rest of the night has been spent nursing a non-alcoholic drink by the bar and trying to stay as far away from the commotion as possible. Even so, you’ve still been subject to some guy bumping in to you for the last ten minutes, laughing loud with his buddies. You’re getting frustrated, and you could leave, but you commandeered this corner fair and square and you aren’t about to give it up now.

And then, Bucky appears from somewhere, putting his body between you and the guy. Once he turns and sees that the brick wall he backed in to was actually a man, he instantly relents, leaving the two of you alone.

“Let’s go outside and get some air,” Bucky says, and you feel like you’ve never heard a better suggestion in your life.

He takes your hand and leads you through the crowd, making sure that you don’t get lost in the fray. Bucky’s huge form blocks most of the people, and they make a path for him to walk, you behind him, one palm on his back.

You’re not sure where he’s leading you, but he guides you out of a door, down a short hall, and then to an exit outside. Once you’re out of the bar, you finally feel like you can breathe again. The close contact with all those people was getting to be too much, and the cigarette smoke, and the noise, and – you’re just glad Steve only has one birthday a year.

You take a que from Bucky and lean against the brick building. You two stand arm to arm, looking up at the fireworks coloring the night sky, turning the city red, white, and blue.

You haven’t really been out since Brock left you, since you moved in with Bucky. You haven’t really enjoyed an evening outside of the apartment, and even though you wouldn’t say that you were enjoying this evening before, this easy companionship between you and Bucky makes everything a little better.

“There’s a question I’ve been meaning to ask you all night,” Bucky says, turning his head to look down at you.

You look up at him. “Oh yeah, what’s that?”

He tries to hold back a smile before he can even say anything, and you know you’re in for some kind of joke, but you can’t help but try not to smile too, waiting in anticipation.

“Do you want to make out with me in the bathroom?” he asks.

You must have a dumbstruck look on your face because he’s full-on laughing now. You can feel the heat creeping in to your cheeks, your heart fluttering at the thought of that night so much like this one, but so many years ago. He’s laughing, and you’re flustered, and you feel like a fool.

“That was a long time ago, Bucky,” you tell him.

“Not that long,” he replies, still smiling as he leans down closer to you. “But also, too long.”

You roll your eyes and push yourself off of the wall, feeling all of a sudden too close to him. You stand on the other side of the alleyway, arms crossed over your chest, looking everywhere but at him.

“Come on! It was a joke!” he says.

“I know,” you respond. “I know it was –”

“Then what’s the problem?” he asks. “Why are you so mopey tonight?”

You finally do look at him – back leaning against the wall, hips canted out toward you, his hands in his jean pockets. His head is tilted, puppy-dog eyes in full force, and you know that he won’t let this go easily. You also know that you’ll sound pathetic telling him what’s going on. But you decide to tell him anyway.

“Brock changed his status to single today,” you say.

Bucky groans and pushes off the wall, walking toward you. You take a step away, backing into the building behind you, looking up at him as he stands in front of you, his arms crossed now.

“Come on,” he says. “That guy is shit.”

“You don’t even know him,” you reply.

“I met him before,” Bucky tells you. “Yeah, Steve and I ran into him at the farmer’s market one day. Steve made me go over with him to say hi. He introduced himself as ‘Brock Rumlow, Esquire.’ I was not impressed.”

You laugh and cringe at the same time. “Eck, yeah,” you reply. “That was Brock alright.”

Bucky brings his hands up to cup your jaw in his palms, thumbs running over your cheekbones. You’re suddenly hit with a swell of emotion, your thoughts jumbled up between Brock and Bucky and everything that has happened over the summer so far, over the last ten years.

You hold on to his wrists, your thumbs rubbing the space between his motorcycle gloves and his long-sleeved shirt.

“You can do so much better than him,” Bucky says, softly enough that you barely hear him over the sound of the fireworks going off around the city. “You deserve so much better than him.”

“Oh yeah, my options are limitless,” you reply.

“Yeah,” he says. “They are.”

You two stay like that, not saying a word. He doesn’t take his hands off of you, or you, him. He just… looks at you, and when he does open his mouth to say something, he closes it again, shakes his head, and finally backs away.

“Let’s go home,” Bucky says. “I think we showed our faces here long enough.”

“I can’t leave Steve alone on his birthday.”

“Alone?” Bucky replies. “He has all those people in there. Plus, he has Nat and Sam to take care of him. He’ll be fine. He won’t even know we left.”

“And I rode with him,” you tell him.

You don’t know why you’re fighting this. To do what? Go back in to the bar with all those people you don’t know? When really all you want to do is go home with Bucky?

“I can take you home,” he says. “Steve definitely won’t be driving tonight.”

You nod your head. “OK.”

Bucky takes you by the hand again and leads you out of the alleyway. There’s no crowd this time, no making sure you don’t get lost. Just his hand in your own, and you feeling like you’re in a daze, in a dream.

When you get to the parking lot, Bucky unlocks his helmet from his motorcycle and hands it to you.

“What about you?” you ask.

“I’ll be careful,” he replies. “Precious cargo.”

He throws you a wink before putting on his riding glasses. You put on the helmet while Bucky gets on the bike, and then you hop on too, arms around his waist, chest against his back.

That dazy-dreamy feeling only intensifies once you start riding. The lights of the city pass you by in a blur, the fireworks still going off overhead. You allow yourself to close your eyes for a minute, blocking out the sights so you can just feel, and before you know it, Bucky is pulling in to the garage below your building.

You’re both quiet as you get in the elevator, and you make your way up to the apartment in a comfortable, sleepy silence.

“I think I’m gonna call it a night,” you tell him when you two get in to the apartment. “Thanks for the ride.”

You start to make your way down the hall, to your bedroom, when you hear Bucky call out to you.

“Hey,” he says, and you turn around to look at him. “Enough, ok? Enough pining over him. You’re too good for him.”

You two stare at each other for a moment, and you don’t quite know what to say. You can’t guarantee him that these feelings will stop any time soon. Brock was a part of your life for so long. But there’s something about being here, being around Bucky, that makes you forget about him until you’re alone again. And that scares you a little bit, too.

“Thanks,” you finally say. “Goodnight, Bucky.”

“Goodnight.”


	20. Chapter 20

It’s about three in the morning when you decide to go to the kitchen to get a drink. As you leave your room, you notice that Bucky’s bedroom light is on, so you make a detour to go check on him. He doesn’t notice you when you get there, so you lean your shoulder on the door frame, watching him.

He’s sitting on his bed, knees bent and back against the headboard. His hair is half pinned up in a bun, his black-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. In his hand he has a pencil, a pad of paper resting against his thighs. Whatever he’s doing, he’s thoroughly engrossed in it, not even noticing you until you knock on his door.

“Hey. What are you doing up?” you ask.

“I can’t really sleep,” he replies. “Just one of those nights, I guess.”

He’s been having ‘one of those nights’ a lot lately. Or maybe it’s always been like this. You’re not sure, because he’s usually up on the phone anyway. Up during the night, up during the day, you never really saw him sleeping. But now, with you taking over some of the nights, you thought he’d be able to get some rest. You were wrong.

“Oh,” you reply. “Well, I’m going to the kitchen. Do you want –”

You hear the phone going off in your room. It’s your night to be on phone-duty, so you give Bucky an apologetic look and leave him to go answer it.

“Thank you for calling 1-900-hot-line, who am I speaking with tonight? … Hello, John, may I – oh. Oh, a three-way? Um, can you hold, please?”

You put the phone on hold and take a deep breath. You are not prepared to deal with this tonight, nor any other night for that matter. But… but you _can_. You can do this. So, you go back to Bucky’s room.

“Hey, Bucky, I got a guy asking for a three-way,” you tell him, proud of yourself for keeping your voice so steady. “Are you up for it?”

He looks surprised for a moment, but then he smiles. “For you,” he replies, “I’m up for anything.”

He flashes you a smile and then gets off the bed. He follows you to your room, where the hot pink phone is waiting in the middle of your own bed. Bucky sits down, and you sit opposite him, the phone between the two of you. He clears his throat and gives you a wink before putting the phone on speaker.

“Hi,” Bucky begins, “I’m Jack and I’m here with my friend –“

“I’m, uh, Jill?”

You cringe at your response, but Bucky gives you a smile and an encouraging thumbs-up.

“I’m John,” the man on the line says.

“So, I heard you wanted a three-way,” Bucky tells John, his voice pitched low and deep. “You’re a greedy boy, to want both of us.”

Your brain is already screaming _Abort! Abort!_ Your heart is pounding in your chest, and your breath is catching in your throat. You don’t know how you’re going to do this. For one, you’re not as shameless as Bucky, usually staying in your room on nights you’re on the main phone line, so he never really hears you work. For his part, Bucky just sprawls out anywhere he deems comfortable when he’s on the phone – in the living room, the bathtub. Hell, he’s even taken calls in your room on more than one occasion.

And then… there’s the fact that you’ve already accepted, that you’re completely head over heels for Bucky. Who wouldn’t be? He’s incredible. Kind and sweet and funny. Not to mention, he’s the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen in your life.

And now, some guy wants a three-way with the two of you, is making you be in the same room with Bucky as he talks about the things he wants to do with you, with _Jill_. You’re absolutely _fucked_.

You snap back to reality when Bucky pokes at your thigh, trying to get your attention. He gives you a questioning look and then goes back to talking to John.

“Jill’s just a little shy,” he says. “Isn’t that right, Jill?”

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry,” you reply, trying to find your character. “I’ve just… never done this before. When Jack’s fucking me, it’s always just him and I. And, well, we’ve always talked about bringing in a third person, but I never _dreamed_ it would happen.”

“You hear that, John?” Bucky asks. “You’re making her dreams come true.”

“For Jack, too,” you reply. “You see, when he’s deep inside of my wet pussy, all he can talk about is how amazing it would be if someone was filling up my tight ass while he was fucking me. Or maybe sliding in to my mouth as he’s fucking me from behind.”

Bucky and John both moan, and Bucky places a hand over his heart, smiling proudly at you.

“Wow, that’s um… can you two, uh, kiss?” John asks.

You look from the phone, back up to Bucky, your heart pounding in your chest. This is it. _This is it._ And although you’ve been dreaming about this for longer than you’d like to admit, this isn’t really the way you wanted it to go. You want Bucky to kiss you because he wants to, not because a stranger is asking him to.

Bucky brings the back of his hand up to his lips and starts kissing it, and you let out the breath that you were holding. You’re both relieved and disappointed, but you choose not to dwell on that right now. Instead, you follow Bucky’s lead and kiss the back of your hands.

Bucky moans. “Jill’s lips are _incredible_. So soft and sweet.”

You moan too, your cheeks heating up at Bucky’s words.

“Oh yeah, that’s good,” John says. “Now, Jack, look at Jill and tell me what you see.”

Bucky takes a deep breath. “She’s… gorgeous,” he replies, looking at you. “She has the most stunning eyes and amazing skin. She’s so beautiful, inside and out.”

“And Jack,” you say, “is so handsome. And he’s so nice and outgoing. He lights up every room.”

“And Jill is sweet and smart,” Bucky continues, “and such a good friend.”

You know you have the dopiest look on your face as you stare at Bucky, but you don’t care. You two just watch each other, not noticing the silence on the line and then you hear, “Uh… ok. Do you guys have any dildos around?”

* * *

 

You wake up, warm and comfortable despite sleeping on top of your covers. You snuggle in closer to the warmth, face nuzzling into the soft fabric.

Realization dawns on you and you open your eyes, only to look up and see a sleeping Bucky. You’re laying half on top of him, your arm around his stomach, his arms around your back. His glasses are askew on his face, his hair a mess in its elastic. He looks amazing, like someone you’d want to wake up to every morning.

You think about how this is the first time you’ve woken up with him still in bed with you, and your heart drops a little bit. In your waking you remember the complicated history between the two of you, how Bucky must really feel about you. You two falling asleep together is just incidental, a result of your late night working together.

You start to get up, but Bucky just holds on to you tighter.

“Don’t leave,” he says, voice deep and sleepy. He doesn’t even open his eyes. “We need to talk.”

Your heart starts to pound in your chest like a drum. “About what?” you ask him.

“About last night,” he says, and this time he does open up his eyes to look at you. “Last night was, um – you made me proud. And I’ve been thinking about this and… I want you to stay. Like, past the summer.”

“Ok,” you reply. “I’d like that.”

He holds you tighter, tighter, too tight now, and you know that he’s doing it on purpose to be annoying. Your face gets buried in his soft, shirt-covered chest, and really, you think, if you suffocate like this, it wouldn’t be too bad of a way to go. But you push against him anyway, half-heartedly trying to free yourself.

“You can’t take that job at Laxton Publishing,” he says. “Let’s go full time.”

You finally get out of his grasp, and you sit up, taking a deep breath.

“Ok, it’s Laxton Press,” you reply. “And I just started, so let’s just take this as it comes, ok?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it,” Bucky tells you, and he rolls out of bed. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

You wait for him in bed, listening to his footsteps pad down the hall. He comes back shortly after, brandishing a hot pink phone, identical to his own.

“For me?” you ask.

“Your very own,” he says, handing it over to you. “And I’ll have you know, I schlepped all the way to Brooklyn for this.

You hold it close to your chest. “I will not let you down.”

Bucky smiles at you. “I’m only giving it to you because you said I was handsome.”

Your cheeks heat up and you can’t help but laugh. “It was for the call!”


	21. Chapter 21

It’s been too long since you’ve been intimate with anyone, even longer since it’s actually been good, and you’re starting to feel the pent-up frustration building up everywhere in your body.

Your “threesome” with Bucky definitely didn’t help, and you’ve been thinking of little else ever since. You’ve even taken to imagining Bucky when you’re on calls, fantasizing that it’s his fingers, tongue, cock doing all those things that the person on the other line is telling you that they want to do to you.

Like now, the voice in your ear is pleasant enough, his words and moans stirring something inside of you that usually lays dormant when you’re working. And at times like these, you let yourself indulge, touching your own body in the ways you say you are instead of just pretending.

But still, it’s Bucky that you’re thinking of. His cock buried deep inside of you, his hands behind your knees, holding your legs open for him, his soft lips on yours as he gives you a slow, passionate kiss.

You moan at the thought, the voice on the other line answering it with a moan of his own.

A kiss from Bucky, you don’t even know what you would do if given that gift. It would be returned, absolutely and enthusiastically, but that one kiss wouldn’t be enough. You’d want more and more, forever and ever. You wouldn’t be able to let him go a third time. You know this, and that’s what scares you.

That doesn’t stop you from imagining, though. Big hands with long fingers, touching you like you’re touching yourself now. Fingers stretching you full, stroking your walls, pulling out and rubbing your slick against your sensitive clit.

And his metal hand, so unique to him, beautiful in its own way, how would that feel against your already heated skin? How would those smooth fingers, so different from your own, feel against your clit?

The thought sends you over the edge, your eyes shutting tight, legs tensing. You roll your hips up, writhing on your bed, as you come on your fingers, and the man on the other line comes with you with a deep groan.

He thanks you and you tell him to call again soon and hang up. You’re feeling good now. Slightly buzzed in the lingering haze of your orgasm, sleepy and relaxed. You hope nobody bothers you for a while so you can just lay down a while and bask in the afterglow.

No such luck.

You hear a knock on your door and you groan. You do _not_ feel like getting out of bed so soon after your orgasm, your legs still feeling like jello. And you are definitely not in the mood to interact with Bucky right after being knocked on your ass by a very vivid fantasy starring him and his beautiful fingers.

You throw your arm over your eyes, blocking out the dim light in your room, hoping that by ignoring him, he’ll get the hint and go away. Yeah, right.

“What’re you doing in there?” Bucky calls from the other side of the door.

“I’m working!” you reply with a huff, getting up on shaking legs to open the door. “What?”

Bucky stands there for a second, looking at you. You just look back, confused. But then, a smile starts to bloom on his face. Small, at first, then bigger and bigger, his cheeks pinkening, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Were you having phone sex?” he asks, all teeth.

You arch an eyebrow at his question. “Do we not run a phone sex line?”

“Well, yeah, but… you slut!” he says with mock gasp, his hands over his mouth. “You just put your fingers in your puss! You know a little pony dies every time you do that? Did you wash your hands?”

You wiggle your fingers in his face. “Maybe I didn’t!”

You laugh as you pass Bucky, walking to the bathroom to wash your hands, for his sake. He follows you, leaning on the doorframe as he watches.

“You must do it sometimes,” you say to him. “You’re not that good of an actor.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Oh, please,” he replies. “ _I’m_ a professional, unlike _some_ people.”

You huff in reply and he doesn’t say anything else. He’s quiet now, and so are you, the sound of running water the only thing interrupting the silence. As you grab a towel, you look over your shoulder at him, prompting him to speak. He did come bother you for _something_ , after all.

“So, um, anyway… 10 o’clock Dot lives in Brooklyn,” Bucky finally tells you, “and we have a date. Friday night.”

You give him a scrutinizing look as you dry your hands on a towel.

“Absolutely not,” you say.

Bucky pouts. “Why not?”

You throw the towel in the sink, not taking the time to hang it back up in your frustration. You slide past Bucky where he stands in the doorway as you walk back in to your room, not bothering to look at him.

“ _Why_ ‘absolutely not’?” he asks again from close behind you, following on your heels like an overgrown, pouting puppy.

“She’s probably some weirdo pervert,” you tell him from over your shoulder.

You take a seat on your bed, back against the pillows, knees drawn up to your chest. You grab the abandoned book on your side table, and flip it open to the marked page with a sigh, trying to signal to Bucky that you’re ready to end the debate before it really begins. You have a few more hours left to man the phone and you don’t want to spend them having _this_ conversation.

Bucky doesn’t relent, though. He sits on your bed, facing you, his metal hand pressed against the mattress to support his weight as he leans. His head is cocked to the side and he’s looking at you behind those damn adorable glasses, bright blue eyes boring in to you as you try not to give him any attention.

“Don’t judge her,” he says. “We’re the ones who are on the phone.”

“We’re running a business,” you reply. “She is just someone using you to get off.”

“Like you?” he asks, a little too quickly, and his tone of voice makes you look up at him.

“No, not like me,” you tell him, seriously.

When you called, you just wanted some company, a few minutes to get your mind of off everything around you. But then, you suppose, that what most of the people who call want too. Company and companionship, even for a short amount of time. A reprieve from reality.

There’s a tightness in your chest all of a sudden. You’re being selfish. She could be nice and this could be good for Bucky. And you can’t keep him all to yourself. The chance you two had had already come and gone more than once and Bucky has made it clear that you’re not the one he wants. Maybe you should be supportive of your new-found friendship and help him find somebody he does.

You guess you’re quiet for too long, because you feel Bucky start to poke your knee. You try to move your leg away from him, but he grabs your ankle and pulls it back.

“Bucky,” you try to say in the most serious tone that you can muster. “Stop.”

“Stop what?” he asks, moving on from poking you to ticking the inside of your knees, your squirming making his fingers graze your bare thighs.

Between Bucky tickling you and his fingers against your skin, you start to feel hot, skin warming beneath his fingertips as you wiggle across your bed even more, trying not to laugh. And somehow you find a way to feel embarrassed at his wandering touch, because even though you washed away the evidence of your earlier activities from your hands, that doesn’t mean your panties aren’t still wet, clinging to you, only inches from his hands.

“ _Bucky_ ,” you warn again, laughing, as if you had any ability now to stop him.

“Please?” he asks as his fingers move up, tickling your sides. “I haven’t been on a date in forever! It’s just gonna be a cool bar in Brooklyn. I’ll come home, I promise.”

“Fine!” you say, pushing him off of you. “Fine, Bucky, ok!”

Bucky finally stops tickling you, and gives you a minute to breathe.

“Ok,” you say again, chest rising and falling in harsh breaths. “But if she’s some crazed serial killer or religious business-bombing fanatic like _Wanda_ , whom you chose so well, don’t come crying to me.”

Bucky smiles at you, big and wide, and it hurts a little, but you’re glad to see him happy.

“Steve and I go with you to meet her,” you add. “That’s the deal.”

“Aww, are you that worried about me?” he asks, still smiling. “You don’t think I can handle myself?”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help but try to suppress a smile of your own.

“I’m just curious, is all. I mean, what kind of girl falls for a guy who she’s only had phone sex with? That’s a little pathetic, don’t you think?”

 


	22. Chapter 22

You’re sure that Steve can sense your nervous energy as you sit in the passenger seat of his car, the two of you following behind Bucky’s motorcycle as he leads you to the bar where he’s meeting Dot.

He doesn’t call you on it though. Instead, he says, “So, what are we going to do about this?”

“Hm? What do you mean?” you ask, placing your hand on your knee to stop its movements.

“This Dot situation,” Steve clarifies. “Are we going to be supportive? Are we going to sabotage it? Your call.”

You roll your eyes at his reply, knowing that he would never do anything to intentionally sabotage Bucky. And you wouldn’t either, not anymore anyway. You’ve resigned yourself to be happy for him, and hoping that, if this is what he wants, it all works out.

“We’re going to be supportive,” you say sternly. “Of course, Steve.”

He laughs at your reaction and you give him a dirty look. “Relax,” he replies. “I’m just trying to see where your head’s at.”

* * *

“Why are you wearing a button up if you’re not gonna button it up?” Steve asks, pulling the sides of Bucky’s shirt toward the middle of his chest, trying to cover the Henley underneath.

“I can’t,” Bucky grumbles, batting his hands away. “Stop it, Steve, I can’t button it up.”

“It’s these fuckin’ tits, man,” Steve replies, grabbing Bucky’s boobs with both palms and now, red-faced, all Bucky can do is tell him to shut up as he shoves him off.

You’re watching from where you’re sitting on the barstool on the other side of Steve, embarrassed for Bucky, but not embarrassed enough to not laugh. It feels nice to be out of the house, and even better to be with both Steve and Bucky like you never were able to be before. You three fit well together, and you’re a little sad about all the time that you wasted.

“Are you gonna take these gloves off?” Steve continues, pulling at the fingers of Bucky’s black motorcycle gloves.

“No, man, leave me alone,” Bucky says as he pushes Steve’s chest with the hand that Steve doesn’t have a hold of. “Stop, Steve, I think that’s her!”

You watch as Bucky pushes off the bar but doesn’t move away. You follow his eyes and see a pretty brunette walking toward the three of you, a smile on her face.

“Bucky?” she asks, and Bucky smiles.

“Yeah… yes,” he replies. “Hi.”

“Wow! You are _really_  pretty,” she says.

Bucky laughs. “You’re really pretty too.”

You’re practically clinging to Steve’s back as you lean over his shoulder, trying to watch the interaction between the two. They’re staring at each other, smiling, and then Dot look over to you and Steve.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know that you were bringing people,” Dot says hesitantly, turning back to Bucky.

Bucky gives you and Steve a meaningful look. “These are just my overprotective friends that are gonna be leaving in a second.”

That’s when Steve pushes between the two and offers Dot his hand to shake.

“Hi! Steve Rogers. How are you doing?” he asks, but before she gets a chance to reply, he says, “I’m just gonna say this. I do not think it’s weird at all that you guys met on a phone sex line. I don’t think it’s weird. Because, you know what? Fuck it. Life is weird, right? I mean, have you ever thought about –”

“Ok, let’s go, Steve,” you say, interrupting his train of thought and grabbing his arm. “Let’s go. It was nice to meet you, Dot. Have fun.”

* * *

It’s quiet on the drive back to your house, with just the sound of the radio playing as background noise. Steve is strangely silent, and you’re lost in your own head, mind back at the bar with Bucky and Dot.

“Dot seems nice,” you finally say, attempting to sound casual.

“Mmhmm,” Steve hums, unindulgent.

“She’s cute, too,” you add. “At least Bucky seems to think so.”

Steve looks at you out of the corner of his eye. “Since when do you care about what Bucky thinks?” he asks, and you want to slap that smug smile off of his face.

“I don’t…  _care_ , really,” you lie. “It’s just that, Bucky’s my friend. I want to see him happy.”

“Words I never thought I’d hear you say,” Steve replies. “I’m glad though. Hating someone for years for accidentally spilling urine on you is too petty for you.”

 _It’s now or never_ , you think. And you’re so tired of keeping secrets.

“Steve… that’s not really what happened,” you say, looking out of the side window, watching as the cars and lights pass by. “I mean, that happened, but that’s not the cause of all this.”

“What? What do you mean?”

You take a deep breath and decided to just spill it all.

“In college, before Bucky went into the army, we hooked up,” you say, and Steve gasps. “I slept over his house and when I woke up the next morning he was gone. No note, no nothing. I had to get a  _taxi_  to take me back to my car. He avoided me in class afterward and …. and the rest is history.”

Steve is silent after your confession, and when you look over at him, you can see his jaws clenched, knuckles white where he’s gripping the steering wheel.

“Steve?”

“Do you know how angry I am that neither of you told me this??” Steve asks. “All this time I thought this stupid feud was urine-related and now you tell me that my two best friends fucked? And I never knew about it? How could you?!”

“Steve, I’m sorry!” you say, burying your face in your hands. “It’s embarrassing! We hooked up and he just left. And never said a word about it since.”

“I don’t believe that,” Steve replies.

“You think I’m lying?”

“No! No, of course not. Something just seems… fishy, is all. You know, I always thought you and Bucky would be good together. It’s not like I don’t  _not_ think that now. Plus, he was practically in love with you in college. And, I mean, the way you would look at him –“

“Ok, that’s enough,” you interrupt. “It was a dumb hook up years ago. We both decided to forget about it and let it go.”

“So, you two talked about it?” Steve asks.

“Well, not exactly.”

“ _Not exactly_ ,” Steve repeats, back to smiling that same shit-eating grin. “That means  _no_.”

You groan in frustration, but a part of you is also relieved. It’s been so hard to keep this secret from Steve, painful and heavy letting everything build and build up inside of you. It’s nice to finally let it out, to remove that weight off of your shoulders.

You’re both silent the rest of the way to your apartment, but instead of your thoughts being back with Bucky and Dot at the bar, you feel pulled back to ten year ago, to that night that you and Bucky spent together. And despite everything that has happened since then, you can’t help but smile at the memory. It was nice, even if it didn’t last.

Steve pulls up to the curb in front of your building, but before you can get out, he gives your hand a squeeze. He’s always been able to see right through you.

“Hey, babe,” Steve says, and you lean down to look at him through the car window. “Just don’t wait until it’s too late, alright?”

You sigh. “Goodnight, Steve!”

“Promise me!”

“Goodnight, Steven!” you yell over your shoulder and then make your way in to the building.

When you get to your apartment, you go straight to your room and fall down face-first on your bed. You’re tired and you just want this night to be over, but your phone shift starts soon, and you want to wash up and get in to some comfortable clothes before then.

You look at your cell phone to check the time and when you do, you see that you have a text message from Steve. You open it and sigh, just imagining Steve’s face when he sent it.

     > I love a good love story!


	23. Chapter 23

The apartment feels empty, quiet without Bucky being there with you. Is this how it will be from now on? You, here alone and him out with Dot? You’re so used to him being there, you’ve taken his company for granted.

You’re curled up in the corner of the couch, your hotline phone beside you on the sofa table, absentmindedly watching some show while thinking about how Bucky’s date is going. It’s going well, you have to assume, considering that it’s been hours since you left the bar with Steve. You wonder when he’s going to be home, if he’s coming home at all tonight.

The phone rings, and you have to mentally prepare yourself to answer it. You’re really not in the mood for this right now, but a job’s a job and you’ve got to do it.

“Thank you for calling,” you say, putting on your best phone sex voice. “Who am I speaking to?”

“Well,  _hello_ , my precious little phone sex princess. What are you wearing?”

You sit up straight, surprised at the sound of the familiar voice on the other line. Yes, the words are more slurred than usual, but you’re almost positive it’s him. He even used the same words as before. You just have to be  _sure_ before you say anything stupid.

“Is that any way to talk to a lady?” you reply. “You could at least ask me my name first.”

Usually, you’d put callers through the billing process before making small talk, but if it’s really Bucky on the phone, then there’s no need.

“I already know your name,” he replies. “Why would I ask?”

Yes, you’re sure it’s him. You’d recognize that voice anywhere. But why? Shouldn’t he be out with Dot?

“Bucky?” you ask, confused. “Where are you?”

He sighs. “Sitting on the roof.”

“On the roof? What are you doing up there?” you reply, but before he can answer you ask, “Did you drive?”

“No,” he says. “I left my bike at the bar. Another bar. After I left Dot, I had a few more drinks. I got a taxi. I’m just –”

And then he stops, and you ask, “You’re just what, Bucky?”

“Why doesn’t anything ever go right?” he replies. “I don’t want to have phone sex with people. I want to be an engineer. That’s what I was supposed to be. I don’t want to be alone. I want someone who cares about me. Who loves me for me. Why is that so hard? I’m just  _tired_.”

He sounds it. And your heart breaks. Bucky doesn’t deserve to feel like this. If anyone deserves to be happy, it’s him.

“What can I do for you, Bucky?” you ask. “How can I help?”

The line is silent for a moment, and then he replies softly, “I don’t know.”

“Bucky,” you tell him, “come home.”

* * *

 

“Do you give every sad sap that calls a freebie?” Bucky asks as he shuffles into the living room.

“No,” you reply, “just you.”

Bucky comes closer, puts his knees on the couch cushion and eases forward, laying down with his head in your lap, face buried in your stomach. He wraps his arms around your middle and you’d be shocked and a little embarrassed at the intimacy of it if you didn’t smell the scent of alcohol that surrounded him.

You look down at him and stroke his hair. “What happened?” you ask.

He turns his head to look up at you, blue eyes so sad.

“We were having a good time, you know? And one thing led to another, and we went back to her place. I took off my shirt and… she kinda freaked. She saw my arm and she tried to play it cool after. It was just a reaction, I know that, but the damage was already done, you know? I mean… when you saw it, you didn’t even look at it twice. Why can’t everyone be like that?”

You were prepared when you saw it, because of Steve mentioning that Bucky had a prosthetic, but even so, it wouldn’t have been a big deal. He’s still Bucky, no matter what, and now you’re so used to it that you see it completely as a part of him now. Beautiful, in its own way. Unique and special and wonderful, just like Bucky.

“What’s wrong with me?” he asks. “No one has ever loved me.”

“Bucky –"

“Why didn’t you love me? Why didn’t you  _like_  me?” he continues, brows furrowed as he looks at you.

You’re confused at his questioning. You’ve always  _liked_  him. And now… well, you don’t understand how he can be so wrong. You guess you’re silent for too long, because he sits up on the couch, so close that his thigh is pressed against yours, and cocks his head, like a puppy trying to understand what he did wrong.

“That night, when we were together,” Bucky says. “It was  _good_. It was so good. I thought you liked me. And then you left me that morning. And you wouldn’t even look at me in class and –”

Now, you’re really confused. That’s not how it happened  _at all_.

“ _You_  left  _me_ , Bucky,” you tell him. “You left me stranded at your apartment and I had to call a cab to take me back to my car. I woke up the next morning and you were just… gone.”

“It was… early,” he replies, thoughtfully, as if everything is clicking in his head, just like it is in your own, “and you had  _just_  fallen asleep. I went to go get something for breakfast. When I got back,  _you_  were gone. I thought you’d still be in bed. How did I know you were gonna wake up right after I left and jump to conclusions?”

You don’t know what to say. Everything you ever thought has been wrong. You don’t even know how to process this information, let alone form the words to express how you feel about this revelation.

“Do you really think I would do that? Just leave you?” Bucky asks. When you don’t reply, he adds, “I wasn’t gone for that long.”

“All this time we could’ve…” you begin.

“Could’ve what?”

“We could’ve not hated each other, at least,” you continue. “We could’ve spared Steve the headaches.”

You laugh a little, more in awe than anything else, but you are trying to lighten the mood. Bucky, apparently, doesn’t find the situation amusing.

“You’re thinking about  _Steve_?” he says, standing up from the couch, almost stumbling over his own feet in the process. “I quit school! I joined the army! I got my fucking arm blown off!” He rubs his hand across his face. “I can’t be intimate with anyone unless it’s over the phone and even then, it’s fake.”

“Bucky –”

You know he’s drunk, but still, he shouldn’t be getting this upset with you. You just learned the same information that he did, and you’re not acting out. This is all happening too fast.

“Are you saying that’s all my fault?” you ask him. “You can’t blame me for your choices!”

He doesn’t reply. He just looks at you, breathing deep, and then shakes his head, and turns to go down the hall to his bedroom.

“Bucky –” you call out to him, standing, and you don’t know why. You don’t even know what you’re going to say before you say it. “Someday, someone is going to be lucky enough to fall in love with you.”

He puts a hand on his bedroom doorframe, but he doesn’t look at you when he answers, “I hope you’re right.” And then closes the door behind him.


	24. Chapter 24

When you walk out of your bedroom the next morning, you see that Bucky’s bedroom door is open, his bed is made, and he’s gone. You stare, contemplative, at the neat, empty bed as memories of last night hit you like a ton of bricks, and you’re once again flooded with feelings of confusion and anger and frustration.

You shake yourself out of your thoughts and make your way to the living room. You pick up your phone from the coffee table where you forgot it last night as you sit down on the couch, and when you turn on the screen, you see that Steve has texted you.

>  _What the fuck happened last night?_

>  _Why am I taking Bucky to get his bike at a different bar?_

_> He won’t tell me anything. Why does he look like shit?_

_Great_ , now Steve is involved. You love him and everything, but sometimes he just makes things even more complicated than they already are, and you have a feeling that this is going to be one of those situations. Whatever, nothing you can do about it now. You send a reply, asking Steve if Bucky is still with him.

>  _Yeah, I took him to go get his bike at some bar. Now we’re at lunch. WTF?_

_“His date with Dot was … less than ideal,” you reply. “Then we had a fight.”_

>  _About what?_

_“Everything. Everything I told you about.”_

>  _I’m gonna tell him I know. I have to._

_“No, Steve, that’s not a good idea right now.”_

>  _What? I can’t hear you. I’m going through a tunnel. BYE!_

_“We’re texting you prick!”_

Steve doesn’t text you back, not that you expect him to. And after about a minute of clenching your phone in your fist, staring at the screen, you throw it against the other side of the couch.

“Fuck fuck fuck!”

* * *

 You haven’t left your spot on the couch all day, and you’ve been attempting to watch something on TV, but your mind couldn’t be further away from what’s on the screen. Everything has been going too well. You live in a nice apartment, co-own your own business with … your friend. Bucky’s your friend, quite possibly your  _best_ friend, and if that wasn’t enough to tell you that disaster was looming on the horizon, then you don’t know what would be.

You hear the front door open, and your heart starts to pound in your chest. You’ve been thinking about all the ways this could play out, but even so, you’re not really prepared.

Bucky appears from the hallway, and you watch him, arms folded in front of your chest, as he sheepishly walks toward you. He has flowers in one hand, a small, pink bakery box in the other, blue eyes sad and puppy dog round, and damn if you’re not halfway to forgiving him already.

He stops a few feet in front of you and shifts his weight, looking down at the floor, and then back up at you. You continue staring at him, waiting for him to make the first move.

Bucky inhales and then says, voice soft, “So, I was an asshole last night. I was the  _biggest_  asshole last night. I was drunk and upset and… there’s no excuse. My behavior was inexcusable.”

Hesitantly, he goes to sit next to you on the couch, a cushion between the two of you, and puts the flowers and box on the table. You eye them skeptically, then look back at Bucky.

“I’m  _so_  sorry. I don’t blame you for  _anything_ ,” he continues. “I don’t know why I said that. Yeah, I wish things would have played out differently with us, but I’m happy with our friendship. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

Bucky sounds so sincere, looks so contrite, that you can’t help but feel a little bad for being so angry. The conversation last night didn’t go the way either of you wanted. And even you said some things that weren’t all that thought out.

“I’m sorry too, Bucky,” you say. “I can’t imagine the things that you went through –“

“Stop,” he says, putting his hand over yours, “this is my apology to you. You have nothing to be sorry about.”

You give him a small smile and turn your hand over so you two are palm to palm. “Well, then, I accept your apology,” you reply, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

He smiles back at you and pulls you in to a hug, wrapping his arms around your waist. You respond instantly, holding him close to you, and all your tension melts away. You rest your head against his shoulder, lips almost pressed against his neck, and you think about how you two are so close, pressed chest to chest, so close and now, knowing what you do –

But no, he said he wouldn’t trade the friendship you two have for anything. And you wouldn’t risk giving that up. You wouldn’t  _risk_ it, but if you knew for sure –

“God, I never drink,” he says as he pulls back. “Good thing, too, huh? I’m an idiot.”

You think back to that first night – Bucky flirting with you at that party, you being so nervous, but happy. Then, in his car, holding hands and him singing along with the radio. You smile at the memory and then realize that you’ve just been staring at him.

You look away, uncomfortable in the awkward silence, and then -

“You’re beautiful!” you start singing, too loud to be serious. “You’re beautiful –”

“Oh my god!” Bucky exclaims, laughing.

“You’re beautiful, it’s true!”

“No please stop!”

“I saw your face in a crowded place and I don’t know what to do, cuz I’ll never be with –  _hmph_!

And Bucky kisses you, warm lips against yours, and before you can process what’s happening, let alone respond, he’s pulling back, looking just as shocked as you feel. You open your mouth to say something, to either ask him why or ask for more, but you can’t seem to get the words out.

“Uh, well,” Bucky says, “at least I found a way to shut you up.”

You nod your head but you’re still speechless, staring at him wide-eyed. He clears his throat and looks away from you, then back again, and there’s a small smile on his lips.

“I’m going to go take a shower,” he tells you, “but after, do you want to veg out? You know, binge watch something on Netflix and just… forget about life for a few hours?”

You nod your head again, and you figure you must look like a complete fool, nodding, staring, so you say, “Oh, uh, yeah, sure. We can do that.”

Bucky’s smile grows wider and he stands up from the couch. “Great,” he says. “Well, just give me a few minutes and I’ll be back.”


	25. Chapter 25

“So, I have a … _proposition_ … for you.”

You look up at Bucky where he’s standing in the middle of the living room, arms crossed over his chest. His hair is damp from the shower, curling at the ends, and he’s wearing soft clothes – a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He seems bashful but determined, and you give him a look that tells him to continue what he was saying.

“Well, we pretend to have sex all the time,” he says. “And now that we don’t hate each other, I was thinking that we can actually maybe help each other, you know, get off… maybe.”

You look at him, shocked. Is he really saying what you think he’s saying?

“I don’t know about you, but I’m not going to be dating for a while,” he continues. “But we both have _needs_ , you know? I mean, God, we talk about sex with strangers every day. So, you know, no strings attached, just two friends helping each other get off. And no actual sex, because that might get too complicated, but e v e r y t h i n g but sex? Just two friends, two buddies, having everything but sex.”

He takes a deep inhale and you guess he realizes he’s rambling because he stops, and you’re staring, and you don’t know how to reply, so you just say, “Ok.”

“Ok?” he repeats.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?” he says, reaching up to scratch at the back of his head like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. “Jesus, I didn’t think you’d be that easy.”

You can’t help but smile. Bucky is your walking fantasy and he doesn’t even know it. He’s everything you want, and he actually thought that there was a possibility that you’d say no to him.

“Given our history,” you reply, “why would you think otherwise? And, I mean, like you said, we already faux-fuck. That’s _way_ more awkward than actually fucking.”

You watch as Bucky tries to suppress a smile of his own.

“Good,” he says with a nod of his head, and he turns around and starts to walk toward the hall to his room. “Ok.”

“Hey, where are you going?” you call out and he turns around confused. “Are we… not gonna do this?”

Both of his brows shoot up toward his hairline. “Right now?”

“Yes?” you reply.

“YES!”

And he’s in your space before you can even blink, dropping to his knees in front of you. You spread your legs to accommodate him and he moves even closer, grabbing your waist in his hands. You two look at each other for a moment and then you both laugh, and you think that this should feel weird, but it doesn’t. Not at all.

“Everything but, huh?” he asks.

“Sure,” you say with a shrug and smile. Because, really, you’re down to fuck, but if that’s what Bucky wants then you’ll take whatever you can get.

Bucky leans forward and presses his lips against the hinge of your jaw, right below your ear. You tilt your head to the side, silently asking for more kisses. He moves his mouth along your jaw, your cheek, and you turn your head back toward him, sliding your lips together, and you two just… fit.

You melt in to him as his arms tighten around your body. Both of your hands come up to cup his jaw as you two kiss, his mouth warm and perfect against yours. This kiss isn’t like the one from earlier, where you were too surprised to do anything. This kiss is deep, slow, and lingering, and you allow yourself to feel everything – his lips soft, his strong hands – and you moan, losing yourself in the sensations.

Bucky slides his palms from your waist down to your hips, to your thigh, grabs the back of your knees and prompts you to wrap your legs around his middle. When you do, he stands, hands beneath your ass to lift you with him, and turns toward the hallway.

“Your room or mine?” he asks, lips brushing against yours.

“Yours is closer,” you reply, but he’s already heading in that direction.

When he gets to his room, he sits down on the bed, you on top of him. He falls back, and you go down with him, laughing against his mouth. You kiss the underside of his chin, his throat, only pulling away so that Bucky can slide your shirt off of you and throw it to floor beside the bed.

Bucky rolls the two of you so that he’s on top, gets an arm around your back and hoists you up further on the bed so that your head hits the pillows. You gasp at the sudden movement and Bucky laughs against the crook of your neck, then kisses you there, one of his hands coming up to grab at your breast through your bra.

You arch up in to him, pushing yourself toward his body, rolling your hips up in to his where he’s nestled between your legs. You feel him hard and thick against you, his thin sweatpants doing nothing to restrain his obvious erection. You grab at his pants to try to pull them down and manage to get them under his ass, but he doesn’t take the time to let you get them down further.

Bucky does the same to you, pulls your bottoms down, but he gets them all the way off and tosses them on the floor alongside your shirt. He presses against you again and you shudder when he grinds his hard cock against your core, just your panties and his underwear as a barrier between the two of you.

He leans down to kiss you as he grinds against you, his dick rubbing your clit in the most satisfying way. You moan out his name and Bucky redoubles his efforts, hips undulating with a quick but smooth rhythm.

You grab at Bucky’s shirt, trying to find something to anchor yourself with as pleasure overwhelms you. He lifts your leg on to his shoulder, wraps his hand around that thigh, and place his other hand against your stomach, metal palm warm against your skin.  

Bucky bites his bottom lip and closes his eyes, leans his head back and continues to grind his cock against you. You look up at him, his strong, lean stomach wrapped up tight in his t-shirt, the long column of his throat exposed and tempting. His body rolls as he moves his hips and you shudder, imagining that this must be what he would look like if he was really fucking you.

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky,” you call his name, moaning, writhing beneath him. You pull him down by the grip you have on his shirt and he leans toward you, your leg trapped between the two of you and spreading you open even more.

“Oh, God,” Bucky sighs, “I’m not gonna last. Please come so I don’t feel bad. Oh _fuck_.”

He shakes his head and laughs at himself, and you laugh a little too, as much as you can with Bucky grinding on top of you. And he’s looking down at you, mouth open, corners of his pretty lips turned up in to a smile.

“I’m coming, Bucky! I’m coming!”

Bucky’s hand grips your hip tight and he practically growls, eyes shutting tight as he comes too, hips moving faster and faster to bring you both to completion.

After a while, his movements finally begin to slow and then he stops, and he gingerly rolls off of you, letting your leg drop to the bed. You both lay on top of the covers, catching your breath, and then you steal a glance over at Bucky and he’s looking at you too. He smiles at you and you smile back, smacking your hand over your face in an attempt to combat the heat creeping in to your cheeks.

Bucky pulls you toward him and lets you bury your face in to his chest, his arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace.

And in this moment you know this is a mistake, but right now, in the afterglow, with Bucky’s warmth seeping into your skin, you can’t be bothered to care.


End file.
